


Here for You

by cdreaiton, charis2770



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin's just so cute I can't stand it!, Awkwardness, BDSM, M/M, Slash, Spanking, Yaoi, fluff as far as the eye can see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdreaiton/pseuds/cdreaiton, https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is injured while out on patrol, and Erwin assigns Armin to care for him while he recuperates, so that he does not aggravate his injury and stays off his feet long enough to heal. Armin harbors a secret crush on the big, powerful squad leader with the frighteningly accurate sense of smell. For his part, Mike feels guilty for finding the young man so sweet and attractive and tries not to come on too strong. Well, things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The news isn’t good. Mike is his second-best squad leader, and it’s only by the grace of god that his ankle is only badly sprained and bruised instead of broken, where one of the straps of his 3DMG  had been neatly sliced (but not his skin, miraculously) when he’d had to swerve suddenly to avoid a Titan’s grasp and gotten exactly in the way of one of his squad members’ blade. He’d taken a nasty tumble, but nothing that won’t heal. Erwin will hate doing without him for the week or so that’s going to take, but he’s going to force Mike to take that week at the very least. He’ll only make it worse if he tries to go out on it before it’s fully healed. And Mike’s too huge….and way too good a friend…for him to punish if he doesn’t listen to orders, so Erwin resolves to assign someone to his comrade to wait on him hand and foot until his ankle can truly bear his weight.

Who can he really spare, though? Ah. Of course. Young Arlert is the obvious choice. It will keep the young man out of danger, fill a legitimate need, and yet keep the keen tactical mind available for Erwin if he needs him. He summons Armin to his office and is, as always, gratified that the boy responds very promptly.

"You wanted to see me Sir?" chirps Armin eagerly.

"You heard the news that Squad Leader Zacharius was injured in the line today?"

Arlert’s face goes an interesting shade of pale and his eyes widen.

"No Sir! Oh god, is he all right?"

"Calm down. A badly sprained ankle with a lot of bruising. The thing is, medical has prescribed bed rest, and I know Mike. He’ll be up and down 50 times a day, hobbling around to get his own glass of water, or a sandwich, or paperwork to file, or something to read. He’ll be bored and frustrated, and his injury won’t heal properly."

Armin nods.

"I’d like to assign you to him for a week, Artlert. You’ll go and stay in his quarters and see that he rests that ankle. Care for him, fetch and carry, keep him company. He’s a valuable asset, as you well know, and I need him to rest that ankle. And…well, I’ve known him since we were both trainees many years ago, and I simply cannot bring myself to spank him if he disobeys this order! Can I count on you, Armin?"

Armin’s facial expression has been undergoing fascinating transformations, from concern to sympathy to…something that looks a lot like terror.

"You’re not AFRAID of Mike, are you Armin?" he asks keenly. Armin jumps.

"Sir, no Sir," says Armin, standing up straight and looking him in the eye.

"Mike’s a good man. He won’t…torment you the way Jean does. You’ll be safe with him," Erwin assures the boy gently, completely misreading the reason for Armin’s discomfort.

No. As Armin trudges from the Commander’s barracks to his own to pack up the things he’ll need, he wonders how on earth he’s going to get through a whole week living right under his hopeless crush’s nose without revealing it all and making a complete fool out of himself!

And as Erwin leaves Mike’s barracks after informing him who his nursemaid for the week is going to be, Mike looks bleakly out the window and wonders how on earth he’s going to get through a whole week without allowing that innocent boy to see his attraction to that tight little body and soft skin and silky golden hair and enormous blue eyes. He rolls onto his stomach and groan into his pillow. He’s going to make a complete fool out of himself!

 

 

Oh, it’s every bit as difficult as he’d imagined it would be! Being inside Squad Leader Zacharius’s barracks is thrilling, but he’s too terrified of saying something awful to enjoy the secret thrill. He forces himself to think of his secret crush that way…as Squad Leader Zacharius, not as Mike. That would be too familiar. Armin does his best to make the injured man comfortable. His long, powerful frame fills his bed in an alarming way. The Squad Leader doesn’t have the standard-issue metal framed cot with its single mattress of striped cotton ticking. Of course he doesn’t. His feet would hang over the end of such a thing! He has a big bed, wide and long and full of…a wounded warrior who is showing way too much bare skin.

"Wh…where should I put  my things please, Squad Leader?" he asks in the quavering voice he loathes but can never control when he’s nervous. The man in the bed chuckles ruefully.

"You aint gonna live here in my space for a week and call me that the WHOLE time, are you?" he asks, amusement in his deep, rumbly voice.

"It’s….respectful," whispers Armin desperately. Another chuckle greets this statement.

"Aye…that it is, and I guess I like the respect, young Armin…but I think I’d like it better if you’d call me Mike."

"All right," whispers Armin desperately.

"Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?" says Mike gently. His voice is calm and steady and soothing, a though he’s talking to a skittish horse or a scared puppy.

"N-nothing," he says, hating the transparency of his face that has ever cursed him with being a terrible liar.

"That won’t do, lad," says Mike a little reprovingly, and Armin would like to hurl himself at Mike’s feet and beg forgiveness, but he can’t give him the truth, he just can’t.

"I’m sorry, Sir," he whispers. "I’m just a little nervous, that’s all."

"Nervous? Of me? Why?" asks Mike in genuine puzzlement, and it’s definitely true that while a lot of people think Mike is strange, no one has ever called him cruel or rude or bad-tempered.

Armin glances at him briefly, takes in the long bare feet stuck out the end of his blanket, one of them wrapped in a bandage and propped up on a pillow, swollen and discolored with bruising. Knows Mike’s wearing trousers as he can see the waist band of them at the top of the blanket, but is still aware of his long, muscled legs under the woolen army blanket…which is actually several blankets sewn together to accommodate Mike’s large frame. He’s not wearing a shirt though, and that’s just unfair. Every chiseled muscle of his golden-skinned torso is bare for Armin to see, and it makes it impossible for him to maintain eye contact. He’s already more than half-hard and how mortifying! But Mike’s looking at him with an expression of concern, so Armin had better say SOMEthing!

"I’ve never…well, taken care of anyone before, and you’re so important to the Corps, Sir, and I just…I don’t want to make mistakes," he blurts out, and that seems to be all right, because of every word of it is true…it’s just nowhere near all the truth.

"Don’t let it worry you too much, lad," says Mike with a good-natured grin. "I’ve never been takenn care of, so I’m not going to know if you make mistakes! Why don’t you put your things in that chest over there by the wall. You can sleep on that sofa there. Is that all right?"

"Mm-hm," says Armin with a little head-bob as he goes to put his things away, because what he’d like to do is offer to sleep at the foot of Mike’s bed in case he needs anything in the night!

Mike watches the boy puttering about, and runs his fingers through his messy blond hair with a huff. Armin hears it, and rushes over to make sure he’s okay. Okay? Mike wonders briefly, closing his eyes against the urge to give in to crazed laughter. The boy is impossibly sweet and innocent, almost fey-like in his grace and beauty, and he is ALONE in Mike’s HOUSE and…and currently touching Mike’s injured foot with careful, delicate fingers, changing the bandage as he’s been shown by the company doctor. Mike doesn’t even notice if it hurts. It’s only the second day and he feels a sense of doom. His sofa isn’t very comfortable, and poor Armin didn’t sleep a wink. Mike knows this because his foot had ached abominably all night and he’d been kept awake by it, being as quiet as possible to avoid disturbing his house guest, who had tossed and turned on the lumpy old sofa all night. Mike had wondered how unbelievably inappropriate it would have been to invite the boy to lie down beside him in his own bed, which is quite comforatble and has more than enough room in it for two. That, however, would have compounded Mike’s problem about a hundredfold, and he’s enough of one as it is.. If the boy would just….run some kind of errand…Mike would take the problem…in hand as it were…and be back to normal in no time. he hasn’t felt the urge to masturbate in years, but he feels it now. Oh, does he feel it. Armin bends over to put the first aid supplies away under the kitchen sink and Mike can’t suppress a tiny groan of pain at the sight of his pert little bottom in his tight trousers.

"Is something wrong?" asks Armin anxiously, hurrying to his side AGAIN.

"No," says Mike through his teeth, "Just twinged a bit. I’ll be fine. Go on, Armin. I think I could just…maybe take a nap," says Mike a little desperately. Armin nods vigorously as though this is a fantastic idea and fusses over Mike, helping him slide down to get more comfortable, making sure the pillows under his ankle are plumped up, tucking him in. It’s fucking adorable, and it’s going to kill him.

 

A cadet knocks twice on the door and sticks his head into Squad Leader Zacharius' quarters* Uh, Sir? Arlert billeted here, correct? I just saw him dart off on an errand, but he's dropped this. He holds up a garment, then lobs it over to Mike's bed. It's a little grey sweater. And it smells of Armin. *salutes and leaves.

Mike reaches out one long arm, quickened by his fighting reflexes, and snags the sweater out of the air. He thanks the cadet politely, then waits until the youngster snaps him a salute and hurries on his way, then he looks down at the garment in his hand. He smooths it out over his lap, his callused fingers rough on the soft wool. He wonders who knitted it for Armin. Glancing at the door, he lifts the sweater to his face and inhales deeply.

Mike doesn’t know why he can smell everything so much more acutely than others can. Until Erwin made him a squad leader, he’d only gotten ridicule for it. Erwin had never made fun of him, not even back in training. Mike will never forget the night the handsome blond boy had quietly asked if he could sit with him at supper. Taken aback, Mike had nodded.

"What do you smell?" Erwin had asked, and because he was the first person to ever ask, Mike had told him all about it. How it wasn’t always something so definable as smell, but was more a collection of impressions. How Mike can sense things about people with his nose that interrogators can’t get from them during intense questioning. Nobody can hide their pheromones. He can tell if a person is happy, sad or angry. If they lie or speak the truth. He can tell so much about their essential character, not just what they SMELL like. Mike’s sense is so much more than smell. He thinks of it as another sense entirely. He had told Erwin a little defensively that he can smell Titans too. Erwin had taken him at his word, and now that he’s proven his abilities to others in advance warning of impending titan attacks, people don’t make fun of him anymore. At least, not to his face.

When he inhales with Armin’s sweater held to his nose, he takes in the boy’s innocence and innate goodness. He smells of Springtime and fresh rain, and of honor and loyalty, or loneliness and the same constant fear they all feel, and a surprisingly strong sense of passion which startles Mike. His head jerks back as his body tightens, reacting instinctively to the feeling, his cock stiffening. Chagrined, he pulls the sweater away from his face and, eyeing the door, he throws the blankets off his legs and swings them over the side of the bed. He heaves himself to his feet with the strength of his arms. He’s not STUPID, he knows better than to put any weight on his bad leg, but he suddenly wants badly to put Armin’s sweater back with his things before he returns.

It’s because he’s hopping on one foot that he’s so unbalanced. When he hears the door behind him, his natural instinct NOT to let anyone or anything sneak up on him from behind kicks in, and he pivots. This doesn’t work very well without two good legs. As he starts to fall, Mike instinctively plants his foot to keep himself from falling. He catches a glimpse of Armin’s horrified face as he crashes heavily to the floor, his injured foot twisted beneath him, letting out a small cry of dismay.

Armin opens the door just in time to watch in horror as Mike crashes to the floor with a cry of pain. Not stopping to think about personal discomfort, he rushes to Mike’s side, falling to his knees.

“Are you all right?”

“Fuck,” hisses Mike through his teeth. “No, I’m a right idiot. Nn. Help me back to the bed, will you lad?”

Armin puts his arms around the taller man and lifts with his legs to help Mike to his feet, scolding madly the whole time, his heart pounding wildly.

“What on earth were you doing out of bed? You could have been really hurt! If you needed something, you should have waited for me. I told you I’d only be gone for about 20 minutes!”

Mike’s face is pale with pain as he manages to regain his feet using Armin on one side and a chair on the other. He looks down at Armin with one eyebrow quirked at the scolding.

“You gonna punish me then, nurse Armin?” he asks with good humor, and Armin turns almost purple with embarrassment. His mind goes helplessly to a mental image of himself held securely over the Commander’s knees, his pants around his knees, gripping Erwin’s ankle tightly to keep from pitching over face-first onto the floor, blushing in mortification until the spanking starts and he’s whimpering and then hollering too loudly to worry very much about being mortified. Erwin’s punishments hurt so much, and he always resolves himself to be strong and silent and not make a sound, but he cries and cries every time. Mike’s use of the word has the unfortunate result of NOT making him think about punishing Mike as the amused older man suggests, but of MIKE punishing Armin and then he desperately hopes Mike doesn’t notice that he’s getting hard even just thinking about it. About Mike scolding him for being reckless and not thinking things through and telling him patiently that he doesn’t expect Armin to be as strong and fast and tough as Eren and Mikasa, and that risking his life to try to prove that he is, is wrong. About Mike’s strong fingers at his waistband, gently tugging his pants down, tumbling him over his strong legs and holding him steady, asking him softly if he’s ready. His big hand resting lightly on Armin’s bottom before he lifts it high in the air….

Oh GOD, he has to stop.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters in consternation, and helps Mike back to bed. He knows Mike is looking at him with questions in his grey-blue eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else. Armin has a sudden horrified thought that Mike can probably SMELL when people are aroused and that makes him want to sink through the floor. After Mike is reinstalled in the bed with his foot up and another dose of the pain medication the doctor left for him, Armin busies himself cleaning the little house and putting some water on for tea. There is some fresh meat one of the squads brought back from patrol, so it won’t be just rations today, and there’s a loaf of bread and some hard cheese. He puts together a creditable little meal and takes Mike’s to him on a tray, noticing his sweater on the floor and sweeping it up with his foot as he passes by. How careless. Was this what Mike tripped over? Was it Armin’s fault he fell? He can’t quite bring himself to ask, so he just sets the tray down across Mike’s lap and goes back to cleaning, scooping it up and putting back with the rest of his things, hoping it’s not noticed.

 

Mike watches Armin puttering out from under his eyelashes as he makes good work of the food Armin has prepared for him, feeling somewhat chagrined when Armin picks up his sweater and puts it away, looking embarrassed. He goes back over their brief exchange, trying to understand what’s happened. Did he touch the boy inappropriately in some way? He must have done, to cause Armin’s sudden physical response and subsequent quick withdrawal. He doesn’t say anything about the boy’s…predicament…but he wonders about it. And tries to understand. It’s not like Mike had said anything….Oh. The sudden change in Armin’s scent had happened when Mike had asked, completely in jest and trying to make light of the situation, had asked if “nurse Armin” was going to punish him. Hmm. He’d never have pegged Armin for a top, especially considering the few things Erwin has mentioned. Erwin doesn’t gossip, but Mike is his closest friend, and they talk about the other corps members sometimes. It had, in fact, been Mike’s suggestion to incorporate corporal punishment to deal with problems. And if he’s not (Mike would bet everything he owns that young Arlert would flee in panic if even faced with the possibility of having to top anyone in ANY way) then…well, Mike’s problem suddenly grows. A lot. Maybe it’s fortunate that the tea contains more of the concoction the doctor has left to ease the pain and swelling in the injured ankle. Mike feels himself drifting off when he’s finished with his food, and welcomes the oblivion.

 

It’s not that it awakens him. He’d have to be asleep for that, and the couch seems to be made of rocks. Thus Armin is awake anyway. Awake, and at a complete loss as to what to do. Mike is asleep, and he hates to wake him, because Mike hasn’t been sleeping very well. Not with his ankle aching all the time. It’s taken a turn for the worse after his fall, and thus after consulting with the doctor, Armin has given Mike a double dose of his pain medication. He’s probably not asleep so much as he is unconscious, but he’s trapped in the throes of a nightmare. Armin flinches when Mike moans pitifully once again, and begs the illusory titan in his nightmare…for what else could be tormenting him so?...to take him instead. He mutters incoherently, with Armin only able to catch a word or phrase now and then, and he thrashes in his blankets, making a tangle of them. Armin bites his lip when Mike’s flailing causes his bad leg to bang against the footboard, and that does it. Quietly, he gets up, clad in his nightshirt and drawers, and tiptoes to Mike’s big bed. He lays his hand lightly on Mike’s forehead, checking for fever. There is none, only a little damp sweat as a result of his excessive tossing and turning.

“Mike?” he whispers tentatively. Mike doesn’t respond, but makes a sound that is so desolate it breaks Armin’s heart. He’s heard it can be dangerous to wake people up in the midst of a nightmare. He has no idea whether this is true or not, but the last thing he wants is to make things worse. At a loss as to what else to try, he crawls hesitantly into the bed beside Mike and sits there hunched up, with his knobby knees under his chin and his nightshirt pulled over his knees, and he reaches out with his fingers to gently brush Mike’s hair out of his face.

“Shh,” he whispers. “It’s all right. I’m here. You’re not alone. Don’t be afraid. Mike…Mike, it’s me. Shh. Sleep now. Nothing will hurt you.” He keeps up this litany of soft reassurances and gentle touches, now stroking Mike’s strong back when he turns in his sleep. Armin does his best not to think about what he’s doing, because Mike’s still not wearing a shirt, and so his small hands run lightly over warm bare skin. He can feel the shift of long, lean muscles under the older man’s tanned skin, can count the knobs of his spine because none of them ever have quite enough to eat. He is so beautiful, thinks Armin, holding his breath, half-hoping Mike doesn’t wake up, because this forbidden pleasure is just wonderful. He’s actually TOUCHING Mike, and not being told to stop. He feels nearly drunk! And then, wonder of wonders, Mike begins to quiet. The pained frown on his face eases into the slack lines of deep sleep. He stops moving gradually, and his breathing evens out. This would be more purely a relief to Armin if it weren’t for the fact that Mike turns towards him in his sleep and throws one arm around Armin, flattening him effortlessly to the soft mattress and holding him close. Armin’s eyes fly open in terror, because cuddling next to Mike’s warm body feels INCREDIBLE and now if Mike wakes up he’s definitely going to know something is up. He carefully tries to extricate himself, but the arm tightens and Mike mutters in his sleep, frowning again.

“Nnh. Stay,” he mutters. Armin’s positive Mike is deeply asleep, because he’d never say such a thing to ARMIN, but he can’t find it in himself to deny the plea. Patting his injured hero on the arm, he gives into the pure luxury of snuggling close by his side, wallowing in the nearness of his bog body and the softness of his bed, and before he knows what happens, Armin is fast asleep.

 

Wakefulness comes slowly. He hates the way the pain medication leaves him muzzy-headed. And so THIRSTY. He opens his eyes, sees that it is not quite dawn, and hopes there’s still water in the pitcher Armin leaves beside his bed at night. He leans over the still, sleeping form beside him and lifts it, noting that it does indeed still contain en….

Very carefully, he sets the pitcher down and looks closer. His little caretaker is lying nestled in the curve of Mike’s body, curled up like a small brown comma with a shock of sun-bright hair at the top. His homespun, thigh-length nightshirt has rucked up under his arms, exposing the bony column of his spine, and his homespun drawers hang precariously on his pointy hip bones. Mike suddenly forgets being thirsty and stares, enraptured, at the sight. The boy looks so fucking fragile. There are faint remnants of the bruises everyone’s 3DMG leaves in their flesh. Arlert hasn’t donned his in the 4 days he’s been caring for Mike, but the faint lines are still visible. With infinite gentleness, as though Armin were some terribly fragile thing that his big hands are likely to break, he reaches out. He has no business touching the lad, and knows it well, but he can’t resist. As though under some sort of spell, he traces a fading bruise on the delicate rib cage. How is it even possible that this small boy is big enough to put on that cruel harness and fly through the air, risking life and limb? It makes Mike so angry. Armin shifts in his sleep and instinctively turns towards Mike, seeking his warmth. Mike smiles in spite of himself and shifts a little to make room for the boy. Armin’s eyes flutter and open sleepily. He’s so cute that Mike smiles even more, his hand gliding down the warm side to Armin’s hip. Armin’s eyes fly suddenly open wide and he turns bright red with mortification. With a horrified cry, he flips over and would probably flee the bed and the cottage if the sheet wasn’t wrapped around his thighs and pinned under Mike’s weight. Unable to escape, he curls himself into a tight little ball of humiliation and hides his head under his arms.

 

Armin is horrified to find himself awake…and still in Mike’s bed…next to Mike…who is also awake. Oh GOD it’s the worst possible tragedy! Mike has been touching him, probably trying to wake him up, only he’d been so deeply asleep due to several virtually sleepless nights on the couch that he hadn’t responded. Confounded by bedclothes, he gives up in despair and does his best to turn into a very small turtle. Maybe he will just disappear. Maybe Mike will get tired of waiting and get up to go….do something. Oh god, Mike can’t get up! Armin moans pitifully. He sucks the moan back into his lungs in shock when he feels Mike’s large, warm hand gently stroking down his spine. His fingers touch and circle each of Armin’s bumpy little vertebra, giving Armin goosebumps and creating an even worse problem for the desolate boy in the form of a very pronounced erection. Not that it’s much to speak of, but it’s definitely THERE, and Mike’s hands on his skin are not helping at all.

“It’s all right, Armin,” says the deep, rumbling voice. “I’m not mad. My couch is horrid, and I’ve felt terrible that I’ve thanked your generosity in taking such fine care of me by makin’ you sleep on it. I thought to ask you if you wished to share the bed with me from the start, but…I worried you’d take it amiss.”

Armin makes a horrified sound and curls up even tighter.

“I’m so SORRY, Squad Leader,” he wails in a muffled voice.

“Not that I mind, lad…because I don’t….but what brought you to my bed?”

Oh god, when Mike asks that question it sounds so…so LEWD, makes Armin feel like a little trollop.

“I…I…I…” he stammers, flustered and distressed. “That is…you were….I THOUGHT it was a  nightmare. You were….you wouldn’t settle…and I was afraid you’d hurt yourself again…and….and…”

“You sought to comfort me?” asks Mike curiously. Armin nods once, shortly.

“Ah. Well then, I thank you. I feel better rested than I have in days, so you must have succeeded.”

Armin shakes his head in denial, not at what Mike is saying, because it HAD seemed to help.

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, Sir,” he whispers miserably, hunching his shoulders. “It was a terrible violation of protocol, and of your personal space.”

Mike chuckles warmly, and his gentle hand does not cease its stroking.

“I think I’d best be the one to judge when I’ve been violated,” he jests. Armin whimpers at the choice of words.

“Come on then, lad,” coaxes Mike softly, his fingertips softly caressing Armin’s knobby back, and it just feels so GOOD that Armin chokes back a sob, because Mike can never know, MUST never know. He’s only being KIND and that somehow makes it worse. “Uncurl for me, that’s a good lad, come on Armin, it’s all right. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

This gives Armin an idea.

“But I have Sir,” he hiccups sorrowfully. “If…if you’d just turn your back please, I’ll go and make my report to the commander. Once I’ve filed and and received my…” he gulps a little, but Erwin’s discipline, though embarrassing, is still less embarrassing than THIS, “my p-punishment…I’ll be back to…to pack my things. He’ll assign you someone else Sir. Someone who will re-respect your personal space.” Armin wipes away a tear on his forearm and waits tensely for Mike to let go of him and back off.

 

Mike does no such thing, appalled and also hugely entertained by what the boy is saying. He recalls a conversation with Erwin, some weeks ago, about the interesting differences in the disciplinary methods each of the corps members require. Armin, as Mike recalls, falls into one of two categories. The times he overextends himself or takes too serious a risk because he’s trying too hard to prove his worth, or the times he slinks to Erwin like a whipped puppy to confess some violation of protocol he has decided to blame himself for. Erwin thinks it is at these times that Armin has done something which makes him feel guilty for some reason, or else merely has some sort of negative emotion bottled up inside him that only a spanking will release. This, then, would be the latter of the two, and apparently the only way Armin can think of to save face. Mike finds it adorable, and at the same time is startled at the rage which boils up inside him at the thought of Erwin bending his sweet little Armin over his knee, baring his tight little backside, and causing him pain. And what the hell? HIS sweet little Armin? Oh, this is bad. But…but Mike can’t make himself care just now. Not when he knows Armin is about to flee, and that Erwin, who knows his soldiers well, will oblige Armin by spanking him to tears to absolve him of guilt and humiliation. No. Just…no. Not this time.

“I will not,” he says coldly.

“You…Sir?” gasps Armin, frightened.

“I will not turn my back. What is more, Arlert, I will not dismiss you at this time to make your report to the Commander. It’s for me, as your assignment, to decide when you’ve broken a regulation. Are you questioning my judgment, young man?”

He sees Armin visibly shudder at the stern tone in his voice, and Mike feels his cock stir in his pants. Oh, this is a slippery slope, but he’s apparently pushed off from the summit some minutes ago and it is already too late.

“Please Sir…” whimpers Armin.

“Arguing with me now?” purrs Mike in a silky, menacing voice.

“No Sir! I mean, yes Sir…I must Sir! Please let me go and see the commander, Sir!”

“Armin Arlert,” growls Mike, “If you wanted to be punished so badly, you could have gone about it in a way that would have been less painful for you than this is going to be. You see, I have permission from the commander to dispense with you as I see fit as long as I’m in need of your services. If you’ve stepped over a line in regards to my personal space, then it’s for me to deal with. And since you have refused to cease arguing with a superior officer when ordered to do so, you’re just stacking up the reprimands like mad this morning, aren’t you?”

“Oh god,” moans Armin. “Please sir, I’m sorry Sir!” Armin tries to uncurl and roll out of the bed all at the same time, but Mike is older and more experienced and has much better reflexes, and has Armin by the arm the moment he attempts his escape. He pins Armin easily to the bed by his wrists, which leaves the distraught boy completely exposed.

The expression on the pretty face makes Mike feel like the worst possible bastard, and he can’t even pretend to keep up the façade of anger.

“Armin,” he says softly, gentling his hold on the slender wrists. “Listen to me. You haven’t done anything wrong. I have…nightmares sometimes. Bad ones. It’s…well, obviously, being close to you makes me feel better. You helped me. I…I’d thought to ask you if you’d like to share the bed with me, on the second day when I realized you hadn’t slept a wink on that horrid couch. To…just to sleep, of course. I wouldn’t presume more.”

Armin stares up at him, openmouthed.

“Y-you really didn’t…mind?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Armin. I want you to stay.”

Tears well up in Armin’s eyes, and Mike can tell that the insecurities and unhappiness and frustrations that are the real reasons Armin would go in search of their kind-hearted commander are still very much present and accounted for, but now Mike has removed his one excuse.

“Yes Sir,” whispers Armin miserably.

Mike stares wordlessly at the tear-filled sky-blue eyes, the trembling bottom lip, and his mouth quirks in a rueful smile.

“It may mean I’m a horrible man, but I can’t hide it from you, lad. The sight of you like this makes me want very much to kiss you, only I don’t want to scare you away. I meant to leave you alone, I really did. I’m too old for you. You deserve someone young and full of hope…and piss and vinegar…someone smart like you, not an old dog like myself. But our lives are awfully short, aren’t they? Maybe I’m reading it all wrong, and if that’s the case, I apologize to you and we’ll pretend I never spoke. I’m…I’m fond of you, Armin. More than I should be. I find I can’t bear the thought of you going to Erwin just now, because what you’d be getting from him would have nothing to do with punishment or his position as your commander, except that he wants his soldiers to be as happy and well-adjusted as they can be…”

“M-Mike?” gasps Armin, staring up at him in shock and confusion. Mike frowns a little and grips his wrists tighter, shaking them a little.

“You’d be…you’d be going because you’re unhappy, and frustrated, and embarrassed, and he fixes those things for you, helps you let them out. Am I right? Please, lad, do me the favor of the truth?”

“I….yes,” whispers Armin, tears spilling over and tracking silently down his face, blushing even deeper with mortification. How can this man see so much? Armin doesn’t even doubt that he SMELLS it somehow.

“Don’t,” Mike whispers back, his stormy eyes fierce. “Don’t go to him for that, Armin. I…that’s something someone who cares for you more than Erwin does should be doing for you. I’m not…I’m not saying he doesn’t care for you, but it’s as a commander, and a friend. I want…damn it, this is ridiculous. You make me feel like an untried boy again!”

“I’m very sorry. I don’t mean to,” whimpers Armin. Mike chuckles again, only this time he leans down and licks a tear from Armin’s cheek with the tip of his tongue. Armin gasps in shock and his entire body flushes with a heat he’s never felt before.

“Let me,” whispers Mike in his ear. “I’ll do it for you, anytime you need. Any time you want. Lay you over my lap and spank you until all the bad feelings and fears and doubts go away. I’ll punish you too, Armin, when it’s called for. Not Erwin. Not anymore. It may make me a horrible man, because I’ll enjoy it very much either way, but I won’t harm you. When it’s for need, I’ll make it slow and sweet and build up the heat in your cute little arse until it’s enough, just enough for you to cry out whatever it is you need to be rid of. When it’s for punishment, because you’ve been reckless or overextended yourself, or made the wrong choice…because little boy, I won’t take kindly to you putting what’s mine at risk…I’ll punish you well. It will hurt, and you’ll cry and beg me to stop, but I won’t, not until the price is paid, just like Erwin does. With one major difference.”

“Oh?” pants Armin, sniffling and crying a little from fear and humiliation that Mike would make fun of him like this, of something he NEEDS so badly….except he’s starting to think maybe Mike is serious, because there’s something digging insistently into his hip that feels alarmingly like his cock, which is a little terrifying unto itself because it’s so BIG…

“Aye,” growls Mike softly. “Unlike Erwin, after I’ve punished you, I’ll take you on my lap and hold you close, and kiss away your teas and cuddle you until you stop crying and then…oh, little Armin…then, when you’re ready, then I’ll love you, slow and careful. You’ll cry again, Armin…I won’t lie….the first time it will be because your body isn’t accustomed to it, and I’m….not small. But I’ll make it good for you, and your body will adjust to me, and then I promise you, it will be so…SO good. Later on, you’ll cry because it feels so lovely you can’t contain it. Armin…fuck, sweet boy…I feel like a right bastard, but I won’t hide it. I’m laying myself at your feet here, lad. Be merciful?”

Armin stares up at Mike with his mouth open in shock. Has he heard correctly? Has this perfect, powerful, amazing man just offered Armin everything he’s ever wanted? Is that possible? It can’t be. It can’t POSSIBLY be true.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he cries desolately. “Please….please don’t! It’s too cruel.”

“Mm,” says Mike consideringly. “Make FUN of you? How can you think that? Are you suggesting that I’m a LIAR, young Armin? Because that, I’ll warrant, that’s worthy of a spanking….wouldn’t you say?”

Armin’s eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat. He feels as though he CAN’T breathe. Mike’s eyes sparkle and his curving half-smile dares Armin to take the bait, and something wild and reckless rises up inside Armin, hot and crazed and as needy as the erection aching between his thighs.

“Oh…oh yes. Yes I’d…I say that’s…that it’s quite naughty indeed, Sir.”

He yelps in alarm when he’s flipped effortlessly face-down and then squeaks in horror when two thumbs hook in the waistband of his shorts. He’d somehow managed to not think about the part where he’s generally not wearing any pants if he’s going to get a spanking and that means Mike’s going to be looking at his bare ass and oh GOD he’s going to DIE! Then there’s a warm hand tickling its way up the back of his leg and he folds his arms under his face and bites down on his own forearm, muffling a whimper.

“Oh please,” he begs softly, with no idea whatsoever what he’s begging for. He hears Mike’s warm, rich chuckle again. It reminds him of the dark, warm, sticky maple candy he remembers from when he was a child, in the winters after the fragrant sap had been gathered from the sugar maples. It is something he can almost taste, like he would roll the candy around in his mouth to savor its sweetness. The big hand strokes Armin’s defenseless bottom and he chokes on a frightened little cry. He knows what to expect from Erwin, because Erwin is dependable and treats Armin exactly the same every time. He has no idea what Mike is going to do. How badly it’s going to hurt. The hand is raised and Armin opens his mouth to beg Mike not to, but then it is far, far too late.

Mike brings his hand down with a sharp slap on his squirming backside and Armin quite forgets how to breathe. There is almost no pain, only a stinging heat that makes him writhe. As soon as he sees Armin’s reaction, Mike laughs again, softly, and starts to spank him. Slowly but steadily, his hand rains down careful slaps on the younger man’s cheeks and thighs, slowly turning the skin pink and warm. Armin wriggles and gasps and pants in confusion and dizzying lust. He knows he’s always been mortified for his small cock to harden against Erwin’s thigh, but this…oh this! He’s going to MELT. He’s going to spill all over Mike’s sheets and then he’ll deserve to be spanked for real, but just now he doesn’t care. This is AMAZING. He’s never felt arousal like this in his entire life, not even the time he accidentally opened the door when Levi and Eren were…and Eren’s mouth was on….and the red welts on Eren’s bottom….but this is hotter. Because it’s MIKE doing this to him, touching him and spanking him and making him feel hot and squirmy and needy, almost as though he does not fit inside his skin. He knows he’s letting out ragged little hungry cries and that he should be embarrassed, but he can’t help it.

“Such a naughty boy,” murmurs Mike, but it doesn’t sound scolding at all, it sounds approving and hot, and Armin moans and nods frantically because he’ll be any kind of boy Mike wants and oh that DOES mean he’s naughty. Gradually, the smacks of Mike’s strong hand on his bottom get louder, and the sting builds hotter until his cheeks burn and he writhes and mewls into his arms and lifts his hips. He knows he’s being utterly wanton, but he’s lost in the sensations Mike is giving him and he can’t stop his reactions now.

“Ohh,” he cries frantically. He feels the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes but it feel okay somehow. It feels right.

“Let go, baby boy,” whispers Mike tantalizingly. “Let go for me. My good boy.”

And that is all it takes. Then Armin is sobbing out all his frustration and embarrassment and Mike spanks him hard, gives him the hot stinging pain he needs to let go of all his cares and worries and it’s so lush and decadent and perfect that in the middle of bawling out his pain, Armin cries also for joy because it is everything he has ever dreamed it would be, and more. Mike is kind and tender and ruthless all at once. Stern and loving and strong and gentle and the little bit of Armin’s heart he had been holding back falls now without a struggle for this man.

He’s been crying softly into his folded arms for some time before he realizes the spanking has stopped and that Mike is softly stroking his back and his reddened cheeks. He turns instinctively and is taken instantly into strong arms that pull him close.

“Shh now,” breathes Mike into his hair. “That’s a good boy. You’re so fine, Armin. Hush now. Such a sweet, brave boy.”

Armin’s overwrought body squirms against Mike’s naked torso and Armin moans in a hoarse, needy voice, his slender hips arching towards Mike.

“Oh,” he sobs, “oh Mike PLEASE! I need….I need…ohh…”

Mike’s mouth widens in a smile against his hair.

“I know what you need, naughty boy.”

Then his hand in between them, and he’s touching Armin’s aching erection, rubbing his thumb softly over the wet tip and stroking softly up and down and Armin cries out and stiffens in his arms and can do nothing to prevent himself from coming helplessly between their bodies, all over Mike’s hand.

“Oh, oh God! I’m so SORRY,” cries the boy, his cheeks stained pink with embarrassment, wriggling madly to escape and straining to reach the hand towel that is beside the pitcher on the bedside table. Mike laughs and refuses to let go.

“Are you going to be this squirmy EVERY time you come? Because I have to tell you, if you are, I’m going to have to spank you a LOT harder first, to tire you out,” he says in amusement. Poor Armin turns even redder and continues to try to apologize. For a while, Mike’s not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, because he hasn’t had a lover act this way in a very long time, but he finally narrows it down to one of a couple of possibilities. Armin’s embarrassed that he came so quickly, or is embarrassed that he got Mike’s hand and sheets all messy. Either of which are quite simply adorable. The apologizing, however, is getting a little tedious. He reaches over and plucks up the hand towel, rolling his eyes a little and smiling down at Armin’s red face. Wiping his fingers, he covers Armin’s mouth with his other hand.

“Stop,” he says, gently but firmly. “Sex is messy. It’s part of the package, and only one of the wonderful things about it. And,” he nuzzles behind Armin’s ear and kisses him there softly, continuing in a whisper, “I’m flattered that I aroused you so much that you couldn’t hold back, little one. Mightily flattered, in fact.” To illustrate this, he arches his hips against Armin and lets the boy feel his erection through his pants.

“Oh god,” cries Armin, making Mike roll his eyes because here they go AGAIN. “You’re still…you haven’t…I mean, we can…now…I’m…I’m ready.”

“You’re NOT,” says Mike definitely. “And you’ll obey me when it comes to this like a good boy, or when I’m ready to take your virginity, I’ll do it after I’ve given you a very terrible spanking so that you’re bawling your pretty eyes out. Hear me?”

Armin gulps.

“Yes Sir,” he gasps breathily.

“I’ll do, Armin. Don’t worry about me.”

“But I…” says Armin, scrambling a little to sit up, which Mike allows this time, but with a frown of warning at the subject matter. “Oh Mike…please? I want…can I just….see you? Touch you? I’m…I think you’re right to wait, and I won’t argue about it….I believe I…I like it that you’ll choose when it’s right for me. But…does that mean I can’t touch you? I’d….I mean, I don’t really know HOW, but you made me feel so good and I….please?”

Mike looks at the innocent, shining blue eyes and wonders for a few seconds just what the hell he’s gotten himself into. It’s a good thing Armin’s not a manipulative little thing, or Mike’s goose’d be cooked. As it is, he groans a little and nods, turning over on his back and pushing his pants down over his hips, allowing his aching cock to spring free. Armin’s eyes widen in shock and something like horror at the sight of what Mike has just proposed to put INSIDE him at some point. Mike puts his arms behind his head and waits patiently. He doesn’t want to spook the boy, or push him.

“Is it…is it all right…if I touch it?” asks Armin shyly. Mike bites back a groan at the innocent request.

“Of course. Any way you like. Take your time.”

Tentatively, Armin reaches out with his index finger and touches the tip of Mike’s erect cock. It jerks a little, quite out of Mike’s control. Armin gasps and pulls his finger back for a moment,  then returns. He proceeds to examine and explore the shape and texture of Mike’s thick, heavy erection. The tip of his little pink tongue is sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. He pokes gently at the slit, looking at the small bead of moisture there with interest. When he brings his fingertip to his lips and licks it off, Mike DOES let out a soft groan.

“Oh,” gasps the boy. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not…” Mike swallows, “Not at all, lad. That’s…it just feels very good when you touch me.  And you’ve no idea what the sight of you licking me off your finger does to me.”

“I want to make you feel good,” breathes Armin with a bashful little smile. “Would you…show me how?”

“If you like,” agrees Mike, offering up a silent prayer for patience and endurance. “You’ve taken yourself in hand before, I assume”

“I’ve taken mys…oh. Oh! Er…yes,” says Armin, looking a bit self-conscious.

“Well, it’s not a lot different from that, beyond a different angle of approach and some difference in size.”

“A LOT of difference in size,” says Armin, eyeing Mike’s cock with big eyes.

“Well then, wrap your hand around the shaft there…ah…yes, like that.”

Armin nods and squeezes gently, of which Mike heartily approves.

“Now,” he continues, a little hoarsely, “keep a firm grip, and move your hand up and down, as you would when you pleasure yourself. Except perhaps a bit slower, as I’d like to last long enough to fi…nn…finish your instruction.”

“Oh. Yes, of course Sir. I’m sorry,” says Armin contritely, slowing his sudden jackhammering pace of fisting Mike’s shaft.

“N-now,” continues Mike, concentrating on things like the inspection steps required before donning his gear. “It’s never a bad idea to give your wrist just a bit of a turn…DON’T twist it like a jar’s lid….just rotate a little. Th….ah, lad! That’s it.”

“Am I doing it right?” asks Armin apprehensively.

“Oh yes,” Mike assures him. “Very right. Now…at the top of the st…ha…stroke, rub your thumb over the tip. Just…Ohfuck…just like that. Good boy. God, Armin, you’ve no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Is it nice?” asks Armin hopefully.

“Oh yes,” says Mike fervently. “VERY good.”

“Will….will you come?” whispers Armin.

“Fuck,” says Mike prayerfully. “You can…hah…go faster now, Armin. If you please.”

“Yes Sir,” breathes Armin, jerking him off faster, his small hand warm on Mike’s cock, his lovely face set in an adorable frown on concentration. Mike throws his head back against his pillows and moans raggedly as the intoxicating mix of innocence and wantonness, along with the friction on his hungry cock prove too much for his self control and he arches his hips up, coming hard, spewing sticky ropes of his seed all over Armin’s hand and forearm and his own belly. He shouts hoarsely when he loses himself, his own hand coming down to hold Armin’s firmly in place and move it just exactly right so that it wrings the last shudders of pleasure from his body.

Just now, his ankle doesn’t hurt at all.


	2. That's the Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Armin thinks he's probably going to die of sexual frustration before his next birthday. This takes place many weeks down the road into he and Mike's relationship, and Mike refuses to take his virginity until he's satisfied with Armin's answer when he asks why Armin wants him to. 
> 
> A little later, Armin gives the right answer!

He’s going to die. The agony is unbearable. He can’t hold on any longer. This is it. He wonders what they’ll put on his gravestone.

“Here Lies Armin Arlert. Dead from Sexual Frustration at 17”

Or perhaps,

“This is the Grave of Armin Arlert. He’s Dead Now Because Mike’s a Bastard”

He moans frantically, arching his hips helplessly as his older, more experienced, unhurried, patient, asshole of a boyfriend sucks gently on the head of his cock, tongue stroking the little knot of sensitive flesh under the glans, his index finger moving with brain-melting care into his asshole. There’s a leather cock ring secured tightly around the base of Armin’s erection. He sobs a little and digs his fingers into the sheets.

“Please, please, please,” he chants softly, whimpering. “Oh…oh Mike please!”

Mike Zacharius, squad leader, second in command of the Scouting Legion, brave and powerful soldier, muscular and tall, a gentle giant, possessed of an uncanny sense of smell, and the worst tease in the history of the entire planet, chuckles softly in his deep, rich voice. Armin loves the sound of Mike’s laugh. It makes him smile every time he hears it. Except now. Because he doesn’t take his mouth away to do it, so the laughter vibrates along the shaft of Armin’s aching cock and wrings a wail of agony from the desperate boy. Tears spring up in his eyes.

“Does my boy want to come?” whispers Mike, momentarily pulling back to smile down at his pretty little lover. He sees the tears in Armin’s cornflower blue eyes and decides he’s pushed the boy far enough. 

“Yes!” cries Armin, digging his toes into the mattress and lifting his hips entreatingly. “Oh please, I was good today Mike.”

“So you were,” agrees Mike, licking a stripe up the underside of Armin’s pretty little cock with the flat of his tongue. Armin moans pitifully again. “Ask nicely then.”

“Ngh! Oh God. Mike please. Please let me come. Please, please. I’ll be a good boy. I need it so bad, Mike! You’re making me crazy. It feels so good. I can’t…I can’t…just please!” sobs Armin. Mike crooks his finger inside the snug, velvety confines of Armin’s cute little bottom, takes his erection back into his mouth, and thumbs open the snap on the cock ring at the same time. Armin howls and shudders, his seed erupting from his body and pulsing into Mike’s warm, wet mouth. Mike grins around the twitching cock and swallows down every drop while Armin pants and moans and blushes. When the boy collapses onto the mattress like he’s been shot, Mike withdraws gently from his body and crawls up beside him, taking Armin in his strong arms and tugging him close. Armin sighs and turns into the embrace, snuggling against the big, powerful body. He nuzzles against Mike’s chest, squirming to get as close as he can. Mike never laughs at him for being cuddly. On the contrary, he seems to like it, and Armin hopes he’s not just doing it to humor him, because he’d never thought he’d find anyone who wouldn’t make fun of him for wanting to be held and petted and snuggled, but Mike does it all the time. He can’t really believe it’s real, that his secret crush on the big squad leader is not only welcomed, it’s returned. Mike brushes a few strands of corn silk hair away from Armin’s face and kisses him on the top of his head. Armin basks in the embrace for a little while, but soon becomes aware of the hardness of Mike’s erection poking him in the leg. 

He squirms free and sits back on his heels, looking down at all those acres and acres of golden-brown skin, rippling with muscle, and he still finds it a little hard to believe that he’s allowed to touch.

“Let me,” he whispers breathlessly, pushing on Mike’s hip. This is an exercise in futility, because it’s like trying to budge one of the big Gates on his own, unless Mike wants to be moved. He doesn’t mind this time, because he rolls onto his back and looks up at Armin with hooded lids, his silvered eyed gone dark.

“Let you what, lad?” he asks softly, his deep voice hoarse.

Armin closes his eyes and blushes. Mike says the most filthy and scandalous things like he’s discussing the weather, wrecking Armin’s composure without remorse. The words come easily to him. Even if he is not as eloquent as some, the dirty things Mike says to Armin make him wild. He’s not at all confident in his ability to return the favor, but Mike makes him talk to him anyway, about what he wants, about what he’d like Mike to do to him, about how badly he craves release. He’d tried to refuse in the beginning, but quickly learned that he’d better only say no when he wants a sore bottom, because Mike can be very convincing. He bites his lip, thinking hard.

He opens his eyes at last and looks down at Mike’s face. It is composed, though there is a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he waits patiently for an answer.

“I want to touch you,” breathes Armin. “I want to go…go down on you. Lick you and suck you and use…use my hands on you. I want to p-play with your balls and suck your cock, Mike. I want to make you come. I want you to come. For me. May I please?” He looks down at his clasped hands, knowing his embarrassment is writ plain upon his face in a scarlet blush, wishing he could be smooth and suave for once. Mike huffs out a soft laugh.

“Oh aye,” he says softly. “I want you to as well, baby boy. You’ve quite undone me, with your sweet cries and begging. I’m so hard for ye, lad. Touch me, Armin. Please.”

Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he bends down to tend to his boyfriend’s needs. Mike is so big and strong, and he’s unquestionably the Dominant in the relationship. His loving discipline when Armin wants or needs it is as dependable as time, and he is sternly insistent on certain things, brooking no disobedience. Armin has yet to outright defy Mike, because he doesn’t want to disappoint him…and is, truthfully, a little scared of what an actual punishment from Mike would be like. And yet, for all of that, Mike easily and readily shows Armin his need, and allows him the upper hand, and never, ever makes him feel as small and powerless as he knows he is.

The size of Mike’s cock is one of the reasons…okay, the ONLY reason, Armin isn’t begging him nonstop, day in and day out, to just TAKE him already. When he wraps his fingers around it, velvety soft skin over steel, his hand doesn’t go all the way around. Mike sighs appreciatively and spreads his legs a little so Armin can crawl between them and curl up. He can’t get very much of it in his mouth either, but he really likes the way Mike reacts when he licks and sucks earnestly, his hands stroking, small pink tongue lapping at the slit, fingers rolling Mike’s heavy testicles between them.

“Ah,” breathes Mike, the muscles in his belly quivering. “So good. Hn. Armin.”

Just now, Armin can’t remember EVER having a reason that would make him willing to wait.

“I want you,” he whispers in a small voice. “Mike…I want you so bad.”

Mike opens his eyes just a little, a sliver of stormy sky under dark blond lashes. 

“Do you then?” he asks softly. His hips roll, and Armin whimpers a little, imagining him moving like that above him, IN him. “Why?”

Armin blushes even hotter and speaks softly between little catlike licks at Mike’s erection.

“You turn me on so much. You make me feel so good, every time you touch me, and I….I want more. I’m not afraid anymore. I trust you.”

“You make me feel…nn…good too, baby boy. Soon.”

Armin knows Mike won’t be dissuaded from this answer. He sighs in frustration, but bites back his disappointment and tends to the task at hand, until Mike is cursing softly under his breath and rocking with his stroking and has a hand in Armin’s hair, not to force his mouth down, just to rest there, clenching convulsively now and then. He loves the scalp-tingling tug of it, to be honest. And then Mike cries out harshly and his fist clenches so hard in Armin’s hair that it makes his eyes water and his hips jerk and he is coming, his sperm thick and warm and salty, and Armin swallows as fast as he can. It had been hard to do at first, the taste and feel of it in his mouth alien and strange. Mike had assured him he didn’t give a damn what became of his spunk once it left his body and Armin could use it to fertilize plants for all he cared, which had made Armin giggle helplessly, but after that it had been easier, until he grew to like it. 

Later, held in Mike’s strong arms, the room dark with gently moving shadows from the banked embers of the fire, he sighs.

“What is it then?” asks Mike sleepily.

“You always ask me why,” says Armin a little testily.

“I do,” agrees Mike, and Armin can feel his lips stretch into a smile against the back of his head.

“Well then what’s the right answer? What are you waiting for?” he cries in frustration.

“Hush,” says Mike, his voice a low, warning growl that gives Armin goose bumps. “I won’t tell you the right answer, but I’ll know when you’re truly ready, lad. Don’t test me on it, unless you’d like to go to sleep tonight with a hot backside.”

Armin thinks about it, and there is a faint tightening of interest in his belly, but in the end he is too sleepy and comfortable to provoke Mike into spanking him, so he subsides and only mutters a little bit, slipping into sleep.

He thinks about it though. Oh, he does. Ponders all the answers he’s given when Mike has asked why he wants to be taken by him, wondering what’s wrong with any of them, because all of the reasons are true. It’s a like a puzzle, and he’s normally good at puzzles, but this one evades him and it’s maddening. Everyone else in the entire Scouting Legion is having sex but him! Well. And Mike. It irritates him more and more, the more he thinks about it, until he’s worked himself into a state of annoyance he can’t hide.

“How was your day?” Mike asks genially when he slams into the little cabin. They hadn’t talked about living together, it had just sort of happened, and that seems to be all right with both of them.

“Fine,” he says shortly, almost stomping to the bathroom where he yanks irritably at the straps of his harness and only manages to pull the buckles tighter. He is panting and cursing under his breath when Mike taps on the door.

“Do you need some help in there?”

“I’m FINE! Go away!” he cries, suddenly furious. “I took care of myself before you came along and I can still do it just fine. FUCK!” He curses again when a seam on one of the straps gives way and he’s left with a dangling end of leather in his hand. It had to have been getting loose, the thread wearing out, for him to be able to break it, so he’s probably lucky, but he can’t think about it that way right now. At least it’s easier to take off now. He squirms out of it, resolutely not listening to the sound of Mike’s footsteps walking slowly away. Embarrassed and chagrined by his outburst, he pads barefoot out of the bathroom with his harness wadded up under one arm. He drops it on a chair to be taken to the quartermaster later. It will have to be repaired or replaced before it can be worn again. He changes out of his dirty, sweaty clothes quickly, his head down, not looking at Mike. When he finally turns, Mike is sitting in the big leather chair by the fireplace, looking at him impassively.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers miserably.

“Come here,” says Mike softly. Armin wonders if he’s about to be punished for the first time, and tells himself that he deserves it, but oh, he doesn’t think he can bear it right now. He can’t say no when Mike sounds that way though, so he walks slowly to the side of the chair and stands there, looking at his feet and twisting his fingers together. He gasps a little in shock when he’s suddenly tumbled off his feet and into Mike’s lap. He struggles for a few seconds, but a sharp slap on his thigh stills him. He hides his face in Mike’s shirt, fighting back tears.

“What’s wrong then?” asks Mike, laying his chin on Armin’s head. “Did something bad happen on patrol? Is anyone…”

“No,” says Armin quickly. “No, it’s not that.”

“Talk to me then. If it’s between you and me, don’t let it fester. It would only get worse if you did.” His voice is calm, but it is implacable. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he wails finally, hot salty tears squeezing out of his eyes and dampening Mike’s shirt.

“Doing wrong?” asks Mike in surprise. “Who says you’re doing anything wrong?”

“I must be,” cries Armin, “because you d-don’t want to…to…SLEEP with me!”

“I don’t want to….oh lad,” says Mike, his body shaking a little with suppressed amusement. “I can promise you that I do want to.”

“ Don’t LAUGH at me,” yells Armin, pounding on Mike’s arm with his small fist.

“Here now, stop that, unless you want me to spank this mood right out of you. I don’t mean to laugh at you. I just thought it was something truly wrong, and I’m relieved.”  
“There is something wrong! It doesn’t matter what I say, you won’t…won’t…ARGH!”

“You’re mad at me because I haven’t fucked you yet?”

“Yes?” confesses Armin tentatively, because when it’s put that way, it does sound a little silly.

“I want you, Armin. Very much. I’ve wanted you for a sight longer than you probably think, and more than you know.”

“Then why WON’T you?” Armin asks miserably.

“I will. When it’s right. And I can’t tell you what will make it right, because then I’ll never know if you’ve said it for the wrong reason.”

“That doesn’t help,” pouts Armin, banging his forehead on Mike’s shoulder, which is apparently more acceptable than hitting him. 

“I don’t recall sayin’ I was trying to help,” chuckles Mike softly. 

“You’re not just making excuses so you don’t have to…”

“Stop right there.” Mike’s voice is once again a warning growl, and sometimes Armin wishes he had the courage to provoke Mike just a little to see what would happen if he kept going once that voice showed up, but he’s not brave enough. “I may have better self-control than you, baby boy, but I can promise you, you don’t want it more than I do. I’ll remind you that I KNOW what it feels like, and thought of doing it with you…” His voice trails off and he makes an inarticulate noise into Armin’s hair.

“Really?” whispers Armin, starting to feel like a great big jerk for the way he’s acted.

“Oh, really,” Mike assures him. “All right now?”

“No,” he replies in a tiny voice.

“All right. What else then?” Mike asks, amiably enough.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again, not knowing how to say what he really wants to say.

“It’s all right,” Mike assures him. “Everyone gets out of sorts.”

“NO,” says Armin urgently, head-butting the older man again in frustration. “It’s NOT all right.”

“Ah,” says Mike wisely, and Armin sighs, because he can tell from the tone that Mike does indeed get what he’s trying to say. “You’ve been a bad boy then, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he says softly, not looking up at Mike. Relief and trepidation war within him. He needs what he knows Mike will shortly be giving him, not because of a desire to be punished but because he will beat himself up mentally otherwise, but it still makes him nervous.

“I won’t spank you for being frustrated and unhappy, lad. You’ll need to understand that. But you were rude to me, and you raised your hand to me, even if you couldn’t hurt me, that’s not a road we’ll EVER travel down, you and I. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Yes Mike,” sighs Armin, relief and need and powerful emotion making his throat tight and tears well up in his eyes again. He doesn’t think about what he’s saying. The words just slip naturally from his lips. “I love you.”

Mike goes very still, and Armin suddenly realizes what he’s just said.

“Oh God,” he whispers. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean it?” asks Mike gently.

“No! I mean, yes I meant it, but I didn’t meant to SAY it. It’s all right if you don’t. I know I’m not very mature or…mphm.” His words are cut off rather abruptly when Mike raises Armin’s chin with his fingers and kisses him so gently is takes his breath away.

“You don’t want to be saying something you’re going to regret when I’m preparing to redden your sweet arse for you,” purrs Mike, making Armin shudder. “As it happens, silly boy, I love you too. And that’s the answer.”

Armin is confused for a few seconds as he tries to remember the question. It comes to him in one great shining moment finally, and his looks up at Mike with his mouth open and his eyes wide.

“You mean?”

“I mean that’s what I was waiting to hear, sweet boy, when I asked why you wanted me to take your virginity.” He leans his face down close to Armin’s ear. “Are you ready to take my cock in your tight little hole, love?”

“Oh,” gasps Armin. “Oh please!” 

“Sweet boy. And you’ll have it. After your spanking.”

Armin moans desperately against the solid, steady warmth of Mike’s chest. He’s not sure he understands how he can be mortified and hideously aroused at the same time, but the things Mike says make him both of those things. He clings like a monkey when Mike stands up and walks slowly to the bed, his hands under Armin’s thighs, holding him up. He sets the young man gently on his feet once they reach it.

“Pick something then,” he chides gently, giving Armin a tiny push. Armin whimpers softly. Sometimes Mike does this, makes Armin go and choose what he’ll be spanked with, and to present it to him, as though it were some kind of offering. Then again, Mike always acts like Armin is giving him something rare and precious, even though Armin can’t imagine why he thinks so. He bites his lip, thinking hard. He feels pretty lousy over being an ass to Mike, when Mike is so patient with him. Ah. He scurries to the kitchen and fishes in the stoneware crock by the cast iron stove that holds various cooking implements. The spoon he takes out has a wide, shallow bowl as big as the palm of Armin’s hand, and an 18 inch handle. It is carved of some kind of lightweight wood, but is strong and sturdy nevertheless. It doesn’t bruise his tender flesh, but oh….oh it stings so much. It’s exactly what he wants right now. Mike isn’t angry. He’s only doing this because he understands that Armin needs it, and he DOES need it. He cannot bear the thought of carrying a twinge of guilt over his shabby treatment of his kind, patient lover into their…He stops a moment and stands stock still. Their first time. His first time. It’s going to happen. Mike will spank him first, make him squirm and wriggle and kick, make him whimper and squeal and promise to be so, so good. Make him cry and sob and tell Mike he is so sorry. And then he will stop. He always knows to give Armin exactly what he wants and needs and no more. His blue eyes fill with tears as he is swamped by a feeling of love so big his small body cannot contain it. Then he is running. Running back through the tiny cabin to where Mike sits on the bed, his back against the carved wooden headboard, and he hurls himself into those powerful arms, knowing Mike will catch him. He doesn’t drop the wooden spoon, keeping it clenched tight in his small fist. 

“Here now, what’s this?” asks Mike in surprise, drawing him close and petting him a little.

“I love you,” cries Armin in a muffled voice, his face pressed to Mike’s neck. “I love you!”

“Sweet boy. And I love you,” says Mike softly. When Mike gently plucks the spoon from his hand, Armin sits back on his heels and gulps a little. “Do you still need this, love?”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Please. I can’t….I…I…”

“Shh. It’s all right. I understand.” And he does, and that’s so lovely that Armin sobs a little while Mike slowly and tenderly undresses him. He is turned face-down across muscled thighs and arranged so that his round bottom is thrust up into the air. “What happens to naughty boys, Armin?” asks Mike solemnly. Armin shivers deliciously, already hard against Mike’s thigh.

“They get spanked,” he says breathlessly. “Hard!” He’s improvising the last part, because it isn’t part of the ritual. Mike chuckles softly.

“Hard, is it?”

“Very hard,” says Armin fervently.

“All right then.”

The first spank with the back of the wooden spoon steals his breath. Oh. Oh it stings like a hundred bees. He squirms and whimpers. Another spank on his other cheek and he yelps a little. Mike goes slowly, pausing between strokes, softly running his hand over his boy’s upthrust backside to ease the burn. He builds the hot, stinging pain in the adorable little arse over his lap, drinking down the sounds of Armin’s increasing distress like very fine wine. He loves each and every one. The sharp gasps, the small whimpers, the cute little whining noises, the ragged little mewling cries, and finally, after both his little cheeks are bright red and very hot to the touch, the shudders and then the soft sobs as Armin breaks down for him, crying that he is so sorry and he will be a good boy from now on.

“Pl-please,” he pleads in his wet little voice. Mike would give him the world when he sounds that way, wrecked and utterly submissive and vulnerable, but not sad or frightened, never that. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m so sorry. I’ll be good. Pl-please don’t sp-spank me anymore!”

Armin doesn’t play games with words. When he begs Mike to stop, he means it. Means he has gotten what he needs from the spanking and is letting his lover know. Mike drops the wooden spoon like it’s on fire and gently pets and rubs the hot, reddened bottom until the boy stops crying. He picks him up like he’s no more than a bit of downy fluff and sets him on his lap. Armin wraps himself around Mike and clings like a barnacle, snuffling at his neck with little grunts of pleasure. Armin thinks Mike smells like heaven, like the best thing he’s ever smelled. Like home.   
Mike’s fingers tangle gently in his hair and tug his head back so he can kiss Armin. He moans wantonly into Mike’s mouth, opening to accept his tongue when it sweeps in to claim and plunder. Mike kisses him like that for what seems like forever, as though he hasn’t anything better to do than kiss Armin senseless for the rest of the day. Then he finds himself on his back, staring up into smoky eyes that burn with an intensity he’s never seen before. His breath catches in his throat at the way Mike looks at him. 

“I’m only going to ask you one time, baby boy,” he says softly, his deep voice more than a bit rough around the edges. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure,” whispers Armin.

“I’m going to do my best to make you feel good,” swears Mike fervently, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But it’s….it’s going to hurt some anyway. You just tell me if it’s too much, and I’ll back off. You know your safeword?”

“Yes Mike.”

“Okay then. Listen to me, love. That’s the only thing I’ll STOP for, all right? I aim to make you mine, and I’ve got to confess I won’t hate it if it overwhelms you a little. It hits me deep down when you cry, lad, even if that makes me a bit of a beast. I’ll give you pleasure if it takes all night, but I’ll have you whether you cry, or beg, or squeal. I hope you will. I hope that doesn’t change your mind. I’ll always give you honesty, love, even when it’s not pretty. The idea of taking you, claiming you…I’m so hard for you already I can scarce keep my wits. I WILL stop if you can’t take it, my word on it, but only if you say the word that’ll stop me. Otherwise, your perfect, tight little arse belongs to me.”

“It has for a long time,” says Armin softly. It’s not that he isn’t nervous. He IS. Extremely. He’s acquainted well enough with Mike’s manhood to know it’s awfully big, and he knows intellectually that it will hurt pushing inside him, but he has wanted it for so long now that he doesn’t care. But more than he worries about the pain, he fears letting Mike down, and is determined not to. And the bottom line is that he trusts Mike, trusts him with his life and his heart. What is trusting him with his body compared to those?

Mike reaches over to the bedside table and picks up a small glass bottle. He uncorks it, and the scent of honeysuckle fills the room.

“Oh that’s nice,” sighs Armin. It reminds him of summer.

“I like it,” agrees Mike. “There’s an apothecary inside Wall Rose that makes it. It’s sweet smelling, but it’s very slippery too, and that’s what we want.” He tips the bottle and drizzles a clear steam of oil onto his fingers, rubbing them together. Gently, he pushes Armin’s legs apart. This is nothing new. Mike has had his fingers inside Armin before, opening him up, teasing and gently stretching and rubbing him in just the right spot. He lifts his hips and moans again when one slick finger swirls around his small pucker, then presses inside. It doesn’t hurt, certainly not yet. He can take two of Mike’s fingers without pain. Leaning on one elbow, Mike fingers him slowly for what seems like ages. Armin’s hips roll and he lets out hungry little whines and gasps, because it feels amazing but oh, he wants more. So he doesn’t force the boy to embarrass himself, Mike mostly avoids putting too much pressure on his sweet spot, but his finger still brushes lightly on the small knot of nerves with each lazy thrust, and Armin is frantic for more after all of two minutes. Long after he asks for more but before he’s ready to cry with frustration, Mike withdraws and presses back inside, with two fingers this time. Armin cries out at the stretch, but it’s not a pain sound. The increased fullness of it feels incredible,

“Ohh,” he moans, arching against Mike’s fingers.

“Feel good?” asks Mike softly.

“Oh. Oh yes,” whispers Armin. That’s when Mike slowly but steadily scissors his finger apart, stretching the small opening to Armin’s slender body past what he’s done before. Armin closes his eyes and throws his head back, gasping and hissing a little when it burns. Even so, it still feel amazing, and after another nearly intolerably long time of having his bottom slowly made to accept this wider intrusion with ease, Mike pulls out again. This time when he does, Armin’s little hole feels empty and strange. He whimpers a little.

“Does your pretty little hole miss me already?” rumbles Mike’s voice in his ear.

“Hah. Oh. Yes,” he pants.

“Such a wanton little thing. Okay, sweet boy, I’m going to try three fingers now.”

“Okay,” breathes Armin.

The addition of a third finger makes his quivering, small anus burn and sting, and he tenses, digging his heels into the mattress to try to force his hips down onto those gently pressing fingers. Mike withdraws, adds more of the honeysuckle oil, and presses a little deeper. Each time Armin lets out a pained whimper, Mike stops pushing and withdraws, pausing for a few seconds until the raw little whines cease, then pushes back inside. Each push gains a millimeter of new depth, stretches Armin’s rectum open a tiny fraction more. And each time the stretch becomes pain, Mike pulls back so that the pain never grows beyond discomfort. He feels astonishingly vulnerable, like melting glass blown and stretched thin as a hair, on the verge of snapping. Being stretched inside makes him feel full, but it makes him feel almost transparent. The tips of Mike’s fingers brush and then press against his prostate and he sees stars. He cries out in a raw, quavering voice and his hips work quite without conscious choice. 

“Please,” he begs. “Oh please!”

Mike’s eyes are black-blown and glittering with hunger when he pulls his fingers out of Armin’s straining body. He kneels up and almost tears his shirt off, followed by his trousers. The sight of his swollen erection is more intimidating than it’s ever been, because now he’s actually going to push that thickness into Armin’s body and his breath seizes in his throat in sudden conviction that there is no way in hell it’s going to fit. Mike looks down at him and takes in Armin’s wide-eyes stare. He smiles gently and lays down beside his nervous little lover. His strong hands stroke Armin’s skin as though he is made of some fragile, breakable substance that must be treated with extreme care. Despite his fit of nerves, Armin is more aroused than he’s ever been in his life, his cock hard and leaking all over his own tummy. Mike hasn’t touched him there yet, for which Armin is grateful. He’s pretty sure he’d just explode at the slightest touch.

“Are you all right now?” asks Mike softly, his mouth close to Armin’s ear, his breath stirring the boy’s soft sunshine hair and raising gooseflesh on his skin.

“Oh…yes. I mean….I don’t know,” he whimpers softly. Mike chuckles softly and shifts, and then he is kneeling between Armin’s legs and smiling down at him, with the little crinkles at the corners of his silver-blue eyes that Armin loves so much, because they are proof that Mike has smiled more than he’s frowned in his life. His callused hands are gentle on Armin’s fair skin, and just like that, like the orphaned baby deer they’d come across a few weeks ago that had trembled and flailed until they all feared it would kill itself in its terror, and for which no one could seem to do anything until Mike came along and took it in his powerful hand as though it was as gossamer as a soap bubble and stroked and whispered to it until it fell asleep in his arms. The faun lives with their small herd of goats and comes when Mike calls…just like that, he isn’t afraid anymore, and the need comes back full force. And Mike’s hands are on his hips, lifting him a little, raising his left leg and tucking it against his body. Armin’s breath comes fast and shallow. There isn’t any more waiting. He feels what seems an impossibly large bunt hardness nudge against his entrance, slippery with honeysuckle oil. So slowly his arm muscles tremble with the effort, Mike eases forward. A little at the time, his cock opens his little lover’s tiny hole, easing in a fraction of an inch and then pulling back. He coaxes Armin’s body to open for him, murmuring a soft litany of endearments and assurances and instructions as he does so.

“Shh, easy then,” he says softly. “Sweet boy. Relax. Let me in. Ah, lad, you’re perfect. Don’t tense up, baby boy. Push against me, there’s a good boy. Hng. So tight….”

“Mike!” cries Armin as he starts to feel the burn of the stretching of his flesh. It stings, aches abominably, feels as though he will be torn in half. He has never been more vulnerable in his life. He is trembling in fear and strain, and yet in spite of that, his cock remains so hard it aches in his guts and the growing fullness in his bottom feels as good as it does painful. At his anguished cry, Mike goes very still. His hand comes up to stroke Armin’s hair, his thumb gliding tenderly along his cheekbone.

“This is going to be the hardest part, love,” he says hoarsely, through gritted teeth. “I want you to bear down against me, take a deep breath, and let it out when I say. All right?”

“Oh…okay,” gasps Armin, pushing down against the massive erection prying him open and he sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Breathe out,” says Mike shortly, and gives a short, sharp thrust with his hips. Breaching the tight ring of muscle inside Armin’s body that impedes his forward progress. Armin cries out in pain, writhing as he struggles against the intrusion, gasping for breath. Tears spring up in his eyes.

“It hurts,” he sobs, gripping Mike’s arms so tightly he half expects to leave finger-shaped dents in his forearms.

“I know baby,” murmurs Mike, gathering him close. “I know it hurts. Shh. That’s the worst part. Relax, love. Breathe, Armin. Deep breath in. Come on now. Shh, it’s all right.”

Armin tries to obey, gasping desperately. His lungs feel like he cannot get enough air. Mike feathers kisses across his face, kissing away the tears rolling down the boy’s soft cheeks. 

“I can’t,” he cries brokenly, struggling and crying. It’s monstrous. He’ll be ripped in half. It’s just not possible that he can EVER take something so huge into his body without this searing agony.

“Armin Arlert,” growls Mike in his sternest voice. The tone of it stills Armin’s struggles instantly.

‘Yuh…yuh…yes sir?” he chokes.

“Do I have to stop right now and spank you again? You will obey me, baby boy. Do you belong to me or not?”

“I…I…I….yes Mike,” sobs Amin, trembling.

“Then be still. Hush. Listen to me. You will take deep breaths, and you will allow your body to relax. Do it now.”

The whiplash of Mike’s voice cuts through his pain and panic and he stops gasping and takes a deep breath, concentrating on letting his tense body relax as he lets it out. When he does, the pain eases dramatically. It still aches, but the searing sense of being torn open fades.

“Oh,” he whispers.

“Better?”

Armin nods. Mike bends down and captures his mouth, kissing him deeply, possessively, wringing a hungry moan from his throat that Mike swallows down with a soft growl of pleasure. During the kiss, when Armin is fully distracted by the eager pleasure of it, Mike gently rolls his hips forward and seats his cock more fully up the boy’s tight backside. He groans into the kiss now himself. Armin squeals and writhes at the burning slide. A moment later his eyes roll back in his head and his toes curl when the thick, broad mushroom head of his lover’s cock rubs firmly over that one perfect spot inside his body. 

“Ohhh,” he cries, his voice raw from crying. Mike chuckles softly and rocks against his boy gently, rubbing and pressing his sweet spot until Armin is nearly sobbing again, but not from pain. Now the ache of intrusion is of the variety of just enough pain as opposed to too much. Oh it does hurt, but the brain-melting pleasure of having his sweet spot stimulated alongside the sense of fullness Mike’s heavy presence inside him brings is just right. 

“All right now, lad?” asks Mike, a smile in his voice.

“Oh…oh Mike!”

“What is it, baby boy?”

“I want…I want….”

“Tell me what you want, love,” purrs Mike in his ear, “and I’ll make it yours. So long as you don’t ask me to stop.”

“No!” cries Armin, doing his best to capture Mike’s waist with his legs. They don’t fit all the way around. “No, don’t stop. I need…oh please, more!”

Mike throws his head back and laughs, a deep, full belly laugh that makes his cock jerk inside Armin’s body and makes the boy writhe. Mike give him more, easing gently back out of Armin’s clutching little hole and then pressing all the way back in. Armin throws his arms around Mike’s neck and moans frantically, his lithe little body arching against his lover’s.

“God. Armin. You’re going to kill me,” mutters Mike, speeding the motion of his hips and deepening his thrusts a little. Every press of his body rubs exactly over Armin’s prostate, wringing needy little cries from his boy. He reaches between their bodies and strokes his fingers sweetly up the length of Armin’s pretty cock. Armin’s head falls back, his mouth slack with lust, and howls like a wanton little slut. Mike grits his teeth and works his cock with every ounce of skill he can dredge out of the red haze of desire fogging his brain. The boy is exquisitely tight, unabashedly wanted, sweetly innocent, shocked and honest in his responses. He is the hottest thing Mike’s ever seen, ever. He tries to think of something less sexy to occupy his mind and distract him from the need to pound into Armin’s body and empty his seed deep inside whether the boy is ready or not.

“Mike!” cries Armin, his voice nearly panicked, his blue eyes wide and blind. “Please, please!” Mike snarls when the tight little hole flutters and then clenches tightly around his cock. 

“Can you come for me, baby boy?” he grits out, his voice almost pained.

“Yes….oh yes, please,” sobs Armin. 

“Do it,” he growls. “Come for me, love.”

Armin shrieks, his insides clamping down on Mike’s cock like a silk vise, his cock jerking in Mike’s hand and pulsing as warm jets of seed coat their bellies and Mike’s hand. His other hand grinds bruises into Armin’s pale thigh as he slams his cock home and freezes, shuddering and shouting as his own release rises up to drown his brain. 

Some long moments later, he starts to recall how to breathe and is able to peel his eyelids open. Armin lies beneath him as though he is a small puppet whose strings have been cut. Mike slowly and carefully withdraws from the boy’s tight little body. Armin whimpers and grabs Mike’s arms tightly. 

“A moment, lad,” he says softly. “I need to make sure you’re not damaged.”

Armin is entirely too sleepy and satisfied to even feel embarrassed as Mike checks to see if he’s bleeding. He’s not, which relieves Mike considerably. He’d been concerned that if his width tore the boy’s tender little hole, Armin would never be able to accommodate him. There is no blood, though the poor little pucker is red and swollen. Satisfied, he pulls his boy into his arms and cuddles him close, pressing kisses to Armin’s hair and face and holding him close. Armin clings to him tightly, refusing to let go even when Mike cleans them gently with a soft cloth he keeps beside the bed. Then he rolls to his back with Armin cuddled in his arms and strokes the line of his spine with his broad hand.

“Was it….” Ventures Armin hesitantly.

“Perfect,” answers Mike. “It was perfect. You’re perfect. Oh lad, God help me, but how I do love you.

Tears fill Armin’s eyes one final time that day and he hugs Mike’s neck tightly.

“I love you too.”

“How was it for you, baby boy?” asks Mike, sounding a little hesitant a few minutes later.

“It hurt so much,” admits Armin softly.

“I know lad, and I’m sorry for it. I don’t believe it will hurt like that every time.”

“Okay. Mike?”

“Hm?”

“Do it again.”

“What, now?” asks Mike with a startled laugh.

“Wellll,” says his adorable little lover with a coy, saucy little smile. “I understand you’ll need some time to recover a bit. Considering you’re older.” His giggles transform into a shriek of laughter when Mike holds him down and pinches the insides of his thighs with little nipping pinches that don’t really hurt much. “Nonono, stop! I take it back!”

“’Twould serve you right if I turned you on your belly and gave you a real fucking to teach you a lesson,” growls Mike with mock ferocity, as in truth he’s delighted with this newly feisty Armin.

“Would you…will you do that…tomorrow?” asks Armin breathlessly.

“We’ll see how your backside feels tomorrow, lad. You’re going to be sore.”

“I don’t….I don’t think I’ll ever be too sore to want you,” whispers Armin, gone suddenly shy, and damn if it isn’t just as appealing as his sass.

“I think,” says Mike, amusement and charmed affection warming his deep voice, “that I’ve created a monster.”

Armin sighs happily and snuggles close against Mike’s warm body.

“Mike?” he mumbles sleepily after a few minutes.

“Yes?”

“It did hurt. But…but oh. I’ve never felt so good in my life, ever. I…wanted to…to say thank you.”

“Nay lad,” says Mike softly, his hand stroking long, sweeping strokes up and down Armin’s back. “Loving isn’t a gift from one to another in bed, as we’ve done. It’s shared.”

Armin closes his eyes with a smile of pure happiness on his sweet face, and his last thought before sleep tugs him gently under is that he’s the luckiest person in the whole world, no matter what tomorrow brings. Holding his lithe little body close in the dark, Mike thinks exactly the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are certain kinds of people who are a lot harder on themselves than anyone else is. People who will beat themselves up over every mistake, real or imagined, and who will often tend to judge themselves as lacking. Armin is one such person. He isn't fast or strong or a very good fighter, he doesn't think he's very brave or that he has very much to offer in the battle against the titans. Mike understands that he does this, and it frustrates him, but is willing to help. When he "punishes" Armin, it's not because he thinks Armin's done something worthy of punishment, but because ARMIN does. What they share enables Armin to let things go, and Mike doesn't have to watch him beat himself up over things. Mike lets Armin show or tell him when he needs this sort of "punishment." That's what happens in this chapter, and the fact that Mike doesn't consider the spanking he gives Armin to be real punishment but catharsis, is the reason he has sex with him afterwards. In other stories I've maintained through the actions of the Dominants that sex and punishment aren't a very good mix. This is, of course, only my opinion and I don't claim to be more right or wrong than anyone else who has a different one. I'm simply clarifying here in case anyone finds this chapter to be contradictory to what I'e said in the past.


	3. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin makes a rash decision that violates Scouting Legion regulations and puts him at great risk. Mike is not happy about this choice. At all.
> 
> Please note that the spanking in this chapter is relatively severe and that, although it isn't precisely non-consensual, Armin definitely wishes it wasn't happening. In then end though, the love and respect they share is unbroken.

“He did WHAT?” thunders Mike, shoving to his feet from the desk he’s been riding the past few days due to a late Spring cold virus which had led to an inner ear infection, rendering him unable to bear to use his gear.

 

Erwin Smith, commanding officer and best friend, faces him across the desk. Erwin rarely dumps the responsibility of bearing bad news to a subordinate unless he has no choice. He considers it part of his responsibility to his troops. 

 

“I just finished reading Levi’s report,” he says, running his hand through his blond hair. “It IS a brilliant strategy, since one of the patrols discovered the existence of a handful of large sinkholes in quadrant 237. Leading titans into these sinkholes renders them helpless, at least for a time. The climb, but not swiftly, and they don’t use deductive reasoning well, so if they can be made to fall in, it’s a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. It was your Armin’s idea in the first place.”

 

“Yes,” says Mike through his teeth. “He’s resourceful, that boy. Stop stalling, Erwin, and tell me what happened.”

 

“You know some of the others made fun of the idea, even called it cowardice.” He huffs out a rueful laugh. “Levi punched one of them in the gut so hard he puked up things he’d never eaten when he heard him say it. Spat on the ground by his face and said any method that resulted in another dead titan was the right method. Called him a...I think it was a mewling cunt licker...in French and walked away.” He notices the expression on Mike’s face and continues, if not hurriedly, a little more to the point anyway.

 

“Arlert was behind the others, who were chasing down two six-meters who were in pursuit of a hunting party, and he picked up a 5-meter himself. One of the proposed sinkhole trap sites was about two miles away, so he...ah...acted as bait and drew the creature after him. He said he felt he had a better chance of defeating the titan on his own that way. The plan did work, Mike. The rest of the squad finished of their quarry and caught up to him, then were able to complete the maneuver he’d helped design for handling them once they’d been trapped this way.”

 

“I’m familiar,” says Mike softly, having spend hours with his excited and enthusiastic little lover devising said maneuvers soon after Armin had learned of the sinkholes and seen their potential, none of which had been designed for a single soldier. One to act as bait, at least one but preferably two to harass the titan and keep it from finding a way out of the sinkhole, and another to administer the killing strike. A minimum of three but ideally four to five combatants, planned meticulously by one of the finest minds in the Scouting Legion to represent the most minimal risk ever faced in killing titans. 

 

Mike turns from his desk and looks out the window. He doesn’t really see anything out there. He’s seeing his tiny, fragile little lover rashly risking himself in order to prove his theory to his detractors. And imagining all the ways it could have failed.

 

“How many of your soldiers would you say are able to handle a titan solo?” asks Mike, his deep voice deceptively soft as he traces an absent circle on the window pane with his fingers.

 

“A dozen, perhaps,” says Erwin uncomfortably. “And we both know Armin’s not one of them.”

 

“Does he have orders, should he encounter a titan alone?”

 

“Er...yes.”

 

“What are they?”

 

“Run.”

 

Mike turns to look at Erwin, his stormcloud eyes burning silver. 

 

“What would you do, Erwin, if this had happened and he wasn’t mine?”

 

“I’d punish him,” sighs Erwin, lifting his hands and then dropping them helplessly. “Not because his plan was bad. It’s brilliant, actually. It reduces the risk to an inexperienced group of soldiers more than any other plan I’ve ever heard. It’s his very brilliance that would make me do it. If some rank and file had done it...I’d reprimand him, I suppose, but for some...the best they can do if caught alone is to try to take one with them. I hate saying that.”

 

“I know. Erwin, I need to know if I’m being just here. I want to strangle the little wretch right now, but I know I’m not objective. I need to handle this right.”

 

“Armin’s too valuable to risk in a heedless act like that. He’s been ordered to run because I need his brain a hundred times more than I need his blade. We can’t afford to lose Levi or Mikasa because the two of them alone will kill more titans in a month than the rest of the Corps put together, but we can’t afford to lose Armin because his ideas alone may save more people in a month then all those kills put together!”

 

Mike’s shoulders sag and he bangs his forehead gently against the window frame.

 

“All right,” he sighs heavily. “I just needed to be sure I wasn’t letting my feelings cloud my judgment.”

 

“Mike,” says Erwin gently, crossing to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “If you want me to...handle this…”

 

“NO!” says Mike sharply, turning his head towards Erwin and stepping back. “No. I promised him, once you’d agreed, that it would never be anyone but me. I just needed to hear it from you, make sure I was being...just.”

“Speaking from experience,” says Erwin sympathetically, and Mike knows he’s not paying lip service, and that this is a quandary his friend has, unfortunately for him, had to grow accustomed to handling. To say Levi is generally more difficult than Armin is a gross understatement. “Wait until you’re not angry.”

 

“Thank you, my friend,” says Mike. Erwin smiles ruefully and lets himself out.

 

Fortunately for Mike...or, more to the point, Armin, there’s a good bit of paperwork to be done after an anomalous event such as happened today. When the door opens, Mike’s managed to work off most of the mad. Most of it. He’s sitting in his favorite chair in front of the wood stove, using a heavy iron pair of snips to cut the rivets out of some leather straps. The door shuts softly and he hears Armin’s boots shuffle hesitantly.

 

“M-Mike?” comes the soft little voice. Mike doesn’t look up.

 

“Lad,” he says heavily, “go and get cleaned up.”

 

There’s a longish pause and he hears the soft thunk of Armin’s footsteps turn towards the washroom, then they pause. A sudden rush of running feet and then Armin is kneeling in front of Mike, his small hands gripping Mike’s knees. His sweet face tilts up earnestly, blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

 

“Mike,” he cries desolately, “ please  let me explain!”

 

Armin knows he’s screwed up, as in colossally. He’s already been dressed down by the commander. He can’t decide whether to thank Erwin for sparing him from having to stand in front of Mike and tell him what happened today. Oh, he knows he’s been a fool. Stupid, it was stupid to engage that titan alone. But he’d been hearing the whispers since he’d presented his idea about the sinkholes, how it was dumb and would never work and how it was a coward’s way of avoiding having to fight them like a man (he’s pretty sure no one has phrased that exact sentiment where Mikasa could hear them.) and how it figures that useless little Armin would come up with something like this. All he wanted was to SHOW them that it would work. He KNEW it would work, and all he’d seen was his chance to prove it slipping through his fingers. He hadn’t thought, he’d just acted. That was what real heroes did, wasn’t it? They took action.

 

But Mike only looks at him impassively. The twinkle is gone from his storm-colored eyes. His face is expressionless. Armin sees his every chance at happiness vanishing and he can barely breathe it hurts so much.

 

“You can’t,” says Mike softly. “The only explanation is that you made a mistake.”

 

Tears spill over and roll slowly down Armin’s pale cheeks.

 

“I know,” he cries, chest hitching. “I juh-just wanted to  show  them...I...I...I didn’t  mean…. Oh...oh Mike please! Pl-please duh-don’t kick me out!  Please! ”

 

Mike looks up in shock from the bits of harness in his hand that he’s been glaring at. Kick him out?

 

“Kick you  out ?” he says in surprise. “Why would I kick you out for making a mistake?”

 

“Y-you’re not breaking up with me?” sniffles Armin. Mike groans and hauls the boy up off his knees and into his lap, holding him close and pressing a kiss to the top of his silky head.

 

“Oh lad...of course I’m not. Ah, Armin, I was angry when I heard what you’d done, but only because I was so scared at the risk you’d taken. It could have gone so wrong. You could easily have been killed! I don’t know what I’d do without you. You can’t...you can’t risk yourself like that, and not just because the Survey Corps needs you. Armin...lad...my heart...I need you too. Daft thing. Break up with you?”

 

Armin wiggles until he can put his hands on Mike’s face and look into his eyes.

 

“Then why do you look so terrible? Why did you look so cold?”

 

“Ah,” says Mike, growing serious again. He sets Armin off his lap onto his own two feet, and straightens the shoulder straps of his gear before taking him by the arms. “Because I was...I was steeling myself for what I’ve got to do.”

 

“Wh-what do you mean?”

 

“What did I tell you would happen if you ever took a foolish risk with your own safety?” Armin opens his mouth and Mike holds up a finger. “And! And what would the commander do for the number of orders you disobeyed today?”

 

Realization sets in with nauseating clarity as he realizes what Mike means. He feels his cheeks flush and his ears go hot as he stares at Mike, aghast. Of course he knows what the commander would have done to him for what he’s done today. Of  course  he does, but this is Mike. His big, kind, gentle, understanding lover. Surely he wasn’t serious when he’d said he’d actually punish Armin for something like this? He means the same kind of spankings he gives when Armin feels all bad and icky inside his own head, doesn’t he?

 

“You’re not going to...you won’t...you don’t mean…”

 

“I’m going to punish you, lad,” says Mike firmly. “Very much the way Erwin would do it, except I’m probably going to spank you a damned sight harder than he ever did, because he wasn’t also punishing you for doin’ something that could break his heart. Now go clean up like I said, get changed out of that harness. Come back to me and we’ll talk some more.” He turns Armin towards the washroom and gives him a gentle shove in that direction. As Armin turns and shuffles off in that direction, his tummy tied all in knots, Mike says one more thing. 

 

“I love you.”

 

Armin’s hands shake as he unbuckles, squirms, and shimmies out of his gear, hanging it on its series of hooks that prevent it from becoming a hopeless tangle. He takes off his clothes and steps into the shower stall. He’s lucky, there’s warm water. The boilers are hit and miss, and the roof-stored tanks most reliably yield warm water at the end of the day when there’s been plenty of sun. He scrubs his skin almost raw, somehow feeling that if he can make himself clean enough, he might wash away this day’s mistakes. 

 

It’s just not  fair ! Tears well up in his eyes again, hot and bitter, and he dashes them away with the back of his trembling hands. It’s a GOOD plan, it IS! It WORKS and now people know it. That part of the woodland has nearly a dozen sinkholes big enough to hold a titan, and if they can trap enough of them that way, it might even lead to designs for manmade traps that will make killing the monsters less dangerous. If he hadn’t led that 5-meter to the sinkhole today, it might have been weeks before another opportunity presented itself, weeks before Erwin really considered baiting the creatures towards the crevasses as part of standard procedure. He will consider it now. For all that he was angry at Armin for disobeying orders, he had seen respect on the commander’s face. Sure, he’d taken a risk, but it had turned out fine. He’s not hurt, and he’d been able to prove his point to all the people who’ve been laughing at him. Let them laugh now! Erwin’s going to validate Armin’s theory and order some of the squads to implement the maneuver when the opportunity presents itself again.

 

Armin’s hands go still in his hair as he thinks viciously about his detractors and his face pales. Oh God. The realization that his motivation had pretty much been all about spitting in the face of people who had been mean to him...to make them sorry they’d laughed, to prove how wrong they were...oh, but there’s only selfishness there! The opportunity to run the maneuver correctly WOULD have presented itself eventually. He’d taken an enormous risk...for the sake of his own pride. He thinks about Mike, and how he’d have felt if Armin HAD been hurt. He’s just lucky he wasn’t. It isn’t because he’d done things the right way, or been justified in his actions. He’d just been LUCKY! Lucky the titan did fall into the pit. Lucky he was able to stay out of its clutches while keeping it too distracted to climb out until help arrived. He wouldn’t have been able to do it indefinitely, and certainly couldn’t have killed the thing on his own. He hadn’t thought about Mike at all when he’d gotten the monster’s attention and egged it on as he managed to stay out of reach. Hadn’t thought about the orders he’d ignored and what breaking them COULD have caused.

 

Never break formation and head out on your own where you are out of communication with your squad.

 

If you encounter a titan while traveling alone (this order applies to Armin and a very great number of other members of the Survey Corps who are not considered skilled enough to attempt a solo kill, it’s not like he’s being singled out) you are to make every effort to retreat to safety

 

Do not provoke a hostile unnecessarily or without backup, as understanding of the creatures’ behavior while maddened is not clear, and this presents an enhanced risk to civilian and military lives.

 

Always work WITH your squad and obey your squad leader. Armin’s squad leader today had been Levi, who had ordered him to take sweep, which mean to bring up the rear and make sure the rest of his squad were clear of attack from behind. He COULD have caught up with them when the 5-meter appeared. Instead he’d left the rear unguarded. 

 

The number of regulations and orders he’s disobeyed is a little dismaying and pretty embarrassing, but those feelings pale when he realizes what he’s actually done to Mike today. He’s placed his own pride ahead of his relationship, his lover’s feelings, his respect for Mike as the Dominant partner. He could have died, needlessly and pointlessly, and left Mike believing he hadn’t cared enough to take care of himself as best he could.

 

He desperately doesn’t want Mike to punish him. Not for REAL. The thought of it, of those powerful arms and hands wielding some implement...oh...oh God, what will he use? Will it be the riding crop? A whip? with so much more force than usual...and even when Mike spanks him for fun, it still HURTS. Will he die? He doesn’t want to face Mike’s disappointment. He feels horrible.

 

He remembers the day Mike had sat him down and talked to him about what would happen if Armin did something that would require a real punishment, for making a bad choice, endangering himself, overstepping his abilities to try to prove he’s as good as the others...they’d both known very well it would happen someday. Mike had explained that it would be up to him to punish Armin from now on, not the Commander. He’d asked for and received Erwin’s word that he’d leave that responsibility to Mike, but that meant that even if he didn’t want to, Mike would have to keep his word and administer the punishment. He’d been so gentle, had assured Armin that no matter how bad things seemed, once the punishment was over, he would be completely forgiven and it’d never be mentioned again. A clean slate. He confessed that he feared it would almost break his heart to have to really punish Armin, that he wasn’t sure he could bear the thought of causing him real pain and hurting his heart, but that he’d do his best to be fair and just, and hoped Armin would forgive him when that day did come.

 

Armin had hugged Mike tightly and whispered that there wouldn’t be anything to forgive and that he knew Mike would be fair and he’d really, really try to be good and not to let Mike or the Commander down. Today he’d let both of them down, without much thought at all. He deserves to be punished, and the list of reasons is intimidatingly long, but each and every one of them is just. And he knows now that if he manages to avoid the consequences somehow, the guilt of it is going to eat him up inside. It’s worming into his guts even now, and all he’s doing is taking a slightly longer than usual shower! He just wishes he wasn’t so scared. Wishes he could be calm and brave. He finishes cleaning up and steps from the clay tiled stall on shaking legs. He pulls on a clean shirt. It’s overlarge, as many of his shirts are, for he’s so much shorter than other young men his age that more than half of them hang down to the middle of his thighs. He thinks about it and decides not to put on trousers. He’ll only be taking them down or off in a few minutes, and is pretty sure he’s not going to want to pull them back up when it’s over. He runs a comb through his wet hair and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

 

When he steps out of the bathroom, he manages to walk back over to Mike’s chair without bursting into tears or letting his legs collapse out from under him or throwing up. He twists his fingers together and looks at his bare feet where his toes worm nervously into the soft sheepskin rug. Mike is still working on the pieces of leather in his hands, wedging the snips between two lengths and nipping the rivet connecting them in two, then poking the severed ends out of their holes and discarding them in a little dish on the small table by his elbow.

 

“Do you know what this is?” asks Mike softly. 

 

“It...looks like part of a belt system?” ventures Armin, hoping that’s the right answer. “A broken one?”

 

“That’s right,” says Mike, not looking up at Armin. “These straps were part of a new recruit’s gear. The recruit was killed last week on patrol. I’m a quick hand with leatherwork, as you know.”

 

Armin does know. While Mike isn’t in charge of actually MAKING the belt systems, he’s often asked to help repair them when they break, or adjust them for a soldier who has gained or lost a few pounds. Sometimes he has to salvage reusable parts from the harnesses of the lost, the fallen. The blood drains from his face, and Mike looks up. His face looks ravaged, grief-stricken.

 

“I’m going to use one of the straps I’ve just taken from this gear to punish you, lad...because I need you to understand that it would probably kill me if they bring me your harness like this, to salvage. I don’t...I don’t want to lecture you. T’would likely make me feel as sick as you to go over it again. Do you understand what you’ve done wrong?”

 

Armin’s tears spill over again at Mike’s words, and he’s stricken with horror as the mute pathos of the ruined belt system in Mike’s hands stabs him in the heart. Mike’s blue-gray eyes are bleak as a cold Winter sky and his big hands clutch convulsively at the strap in them.

 

“I’m so sorry, Mike,” whispers Armin, desperately trying not to burst out sobbing. “I...I disobeyed orders...at least f-four of them, Sir. I risked my safety...my life...in doing so. Oh Mike...Sir...I didn’t  think!  Or...or...I only thought about myself. I didn’t think about you, just all those people who laugh at me, and that was selfish! I d-don’t have anything to prove to you or to Commander Smith be-because you already believe in me so...so I was only thinking of...of proving something...to WHO? A bunch of JERKS because they...they hurt my  feelings! Oh Mike...I deserve to be beaten. Please, please...I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

 

Mike leans forward in the chair and slides his arms around Armin’s waist, laying his head gently against the boy’s chest. His chest hitches and his broad shoulders give a great heave.

 

“I will,” he mutters into Armin’s clean shirt. Armin’s hands lift, flutter helplessly in the air, then rest hesitantly on Mike’s shoulders. “I’m glad. Glad you understand why what you did was wrong. So glad you understand why it’s more than just the regulations you broke. My rusty old heart wants to break right now too, my boy. Oh, my sweet boy.” He lifts his head and looks up at Armin, who is horrified to see tears shining in Mike’s eyes, though they do not spill over.

 

With another aching sigh, Mike gets to his feet slowly, as though he feels a hundred years old and his body creaks and catches and aches, his back bowed with a great weight. He drops the shorter, broken bits of leather and holds on to one sturdy length, about two and a half feet long and almost two inches wide. It is thick and sturdy, made to bear a soldier’s weight, oiled and supple. All the spit dries in Armin’s mouth when Mike slowly wraps it around his fist two times, leaving a very serviceable and omionus eighteen inches dangling. Its width with cover the entirety of Armin’s small bottom in about three strokes. He swallows a moan of dread and follows Mike over to the bed.

 

“Do you want me to tie you, lad?” asks Mike solemnly. “It’s...I’m going to hurt your arse rather a lot and it’s...it’s all right if you can’t be still for it on your own.”

 

“I can,” whispers Armin. “I can do it.”

 

“Brave lad. All right then. I want you to kneel here near the foot of the bed. Spread your knees apart and rest your upper body on the bed...with your backside up high. I’m going to give you a dozen from each side. You...you don’t have to count, love. Or try to be tough. Everyone cries when they’re whipped like this. Eren, Mikasa, Jean...even Levi.”

 

Armin lets a tiny, tremulous smile break through.

 

“J-Jean says he’s too tough to cry. He sa-says Erwin’s whippings are kids’ stuff.”

 

Mike huffs out a soft laugh in return.

 

“Jean bawls like a wee lad for Erwin.  And  for Marco.”

 

Armin’s eyes go wide and he gasps.

 

“ Really?”

 

“Oh Aye. Marco came to me for advice on ways to make his naughty boy howl. You’ll keep that secret now. I’m only tellin’ ye to make you feel better.”

 

And he does, a little. Not, you know, a LOT, but he appreciates Mike’s kindness and really hopes he’ll be able to look Jean in the eye from now on. Trembling, he crawls onto the big bed and gets into position, sliding his knees wide apart, arching his back and hiding his face in his crossed arms as he lifts his bottom high, offering it up to Mike in supplication, ears red with embarrassment at how exposed he is when Mike pushes the shirt up over his back. He can feel cool air between his legs and between his cheeks, knows Mike can see everything, his balls and little penis dangling, tiny hole winking. Oh, it’s mortifying, even though Mike has seen (and touched and licked) just about every bit of him, Armin finds it so much more exposing and terrible NOW. 

 

“Are you ready, lad?” asks Mike gruffly. 

 

“Do you really have to, Mike?” whimpers Armin, losing his resolve when the moment is upon him in the face of how scared he is.

 

“What do you think?” asks Mike gently. Armin bites his lip and trembles.

 

“I...I’m ready,” he whispers. He gasps when he feels the leather brush softly against the round cheeks of his bottom. 

 

CRACK!

 

The strap sounds like an explosion in the quiet of their small cottage. Armin opens and closes his mouth soundlessly a few times, unable to even draw breath as the shock of the first stroke sears into him. The second stroke helps him find his voice and he wails in pain and horror. Nothing he’d imagined had really prepared him for how much it HURTS. It feels as though the skin on his bottom is being flayed. He’s never realized how careful Mike has been with him all this time, how very gentle, even though some of his spanking have hurt and stung and made Armin cry and sob. He’d known Mike was strong. He’d told himself this would be worse. It’s possibly the most blatant understatement he’s ever heard of in his life.

 

The thick, heavy strap cracks against his tender bare flesh again and again, starting at the very crest of his cheeks and travelling down his backside, lashing so hard that when it is laid down across the middle of his bottom, his soft little buttocks are compressed by the force of it and he can even feel a tiny, sharp shocking sting at his center. His little hole puckers and flinches and he shrieks. The next stroke comes right on the heels of this breathtaking pain and he screams again as it burns into the crease where his bottom meets his thighs. Oh God, that’s only four. Five, six, seven and eight revisit the same punished flesh and by then Armin is howling and sobbing in pain. The last four of the first dozen bite cruelly at his left thigh, curling around to blister the baby-soft skin on the inside of his leg. He screams and screams as his thigh seems to ignite under the strap.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!!” he wails as the whipping pauses. “Oh Mike please! Please it hurts! It hurts so bad! I’ll be so good, Mike, please don’t spank me anymore! Please oh please!!” He doesn’t move from position, or try to cover his burning bottom with his hands, but he cries and cries, and he begs. Mike moves to his other side and a big hand drifts over Armin’s hair and Mike’s deep, rumbling voice is raw when he whispers underneath Armin’s pleas and sobs.

 

“Ah,  Fuck.”

 

Even in his suffering, Armin can hear the regret in that voice. He bites his lips and presses his mouth against the backs of his hands, fingers curling into the bedclothes.He can’t stop bawling like a punished little boy, but he chokes back his pleas for mercy. Mike keeps his word. He’s said two dozen, so that’s what Armin will get. 

 

If the first dozen strokes had been terrible, the second dozen are hellish. His bottom is hot and throbbing with pain. He feels as though he’s been set on his rump on a hot stove stop and held down until his flesh blisters. There’s really not any chance of his bearing the strapping bravely, not in the face of how MUCH it hurts him. He hollers and howls and squeals. He squalls like a baby. His helpless little round bottom and soft thighs quiver under the blistering heat. He loses count in his head. There’s no room in his brain for anything but FIRE, AGONY, MURDER! The strap curls around his right thigh relentlessly, four times, and then he dimly hears a rather far away sound as it hits the wall on the other side of the cabin where Mike flings it violently. 

 

The bed sags and he’s hauled unceremoniously into Mike’s lap. Ever considerate, Mike sits with his knees spread a little so that it’s mostly Armin’s lower thighs making contact with the rough fabric of his trousers, his raw, throbbing backside and upper thighs suspended over the gap. He still wails a little when, inevitably, punished flesh scrapes fabric that feels like sandpaper as Mike situates him. Then he’s enveloped in big, strong arms while he sobs out his guilt and sorrow and pain into Mike’s shirt, while Mike presses his lips to Armin’s hair and whispers to him and rocks him gently.

 

“Ah lad, I’m so sorry,” the big man says softly. “Shh now, it’s all over. You’re so brave. My baby boy. Armin, forgive me. Oh God, I’m sorry.”

 

Armin sniffles deeply in hopes of not making even more of a mess on Mike’s shirt and pulls back a little, to peer up at Mike through watery eyes.

 

“Fuh...forgive you?” he hiccups thickly, his nose still badly clogged with snot, “F---for whuh-what?”

 

“For hurting you so bad,” whispers Mike bleakly. Armin peers closer and gapes in surprise. He reaches up with trembling fingers and touches Mike’s cheek. His fingers come away wet.

 

“You...you’re crying,” he says in confusion.

 

“Aye well, that was one of the worth things I’ve ever had to do, and I’ve never felt like such a complete shit in my life. God, I an’t bear seeing you suffer like that, especially knowing it’s my fault,” swears Mike fervently.

 

“But you’re supposed to forgive ME<” sniffles Armin.

 

“Of course I forgive you. I forgave you before we started,” says Mike, hugging him tightly. “YOu said you were sorry, and I know you meant it. What kind of asshole doesn’t accept a sincere apology from the person they love most?”

 

“Oh,” whispers Armin, feeling better than he has all day. Mike clears his throat meaningfully and raises an eyebrow.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“What kind of asshole doesn’t accept a sincere apology from the person they love most?” repeats Mike significantly. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about that last bit?”

 

“Oh God, of course I forgive you,” says Armin quickly, genuinely startled by the relieved expression on his lover’s face. “But...but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“People can be sorry they’ve hurt someone even if it’s necessary,” says Mike softly, brushing a few stray strands of cornsilk hair off Armin’s face where they have adhered to his damp cheeks.

 

“I really am sorry,” says Armin ruefully. “And not cause that was the hardest spanking of my whole life. I wasn’t thinking today and I’ll try not to do that again.”

 

“Ah-ah,” scolds Mike with a quirk of his lips. “You’ve apologized. I’ve accepted. You’ve paid the price. It’s over, and we won’t mention it again. Past is past. All right?”

 

“Really?” gasps Armin. His heart lifts and he suddenly feels as light and airy as a soap bubble, as though he’s lit up and warmed from within by the relief of losing the weight of guilt and self-recrimination. Mike doesn’t lie. If he says it’s over for good, then it really is. He feels ever so much cleaner than when he’d gotten out a the shower what seems like hours ago now but which was probably only about twenty minutes.

 

“Really,” says Mike, smiling softly. “Now you lie down on the bed on your tummy, and I’ll rub some aloe juice on your cute little arse for you, and then you can get some rest. It’s been a long day for you.”

 

The aloe juice soothes and cools his punished bottom and legs, even if the barest touch of Mike’s fingers makes him whimper in pain. Mike goes very slowly, with infinite patience and tenderness. Armin cries a little more, but they aren’t bitter tears, his bottom just stings so MUCH. Mike murmurs kind nonsense to him to soothe him when the touch of his gentle fingers makes Armin sob a bit, meaningless endearments and praise, only Armin soaks up every word. He drifts off to sleep after a few minutes, only to awaken, moaning softly, some time later.

 

He lifts his head and peers around at the darkness. He can’t tell how long he’s been sleeping. He is curled up against Mike’s side, one leg thrown over one of Mike’s, rocking gently against him and keening softly to himself. His bottom throbs even now, but that’s not the cause of this sound. His cock is painfully hard, so much so that he thinks he might explode. And he’s humping Mike’s leg like a damned dog in his sleep. His erection is insistent, throbbing like a sore tooth, taking his breath. With alertness returns awareness of the equal throb of the welts the strap left on his bottom and inner thighs and he whimpers, pain and need a confusing fog. He bites his lip and forces himself to be still, not wanting to wake Mike.

 

Mike rolls on his side to face him and smooths his hair out of his eyes.

 

“I thought you might have been asleep,” he says softly, his hand stroking next down Armin’s cheek and jawline to his neck. Armin shudders. “I didn’t want to wake you, specially not when you seemed so...intent on your task.”

 

“Oh God,” cries Armin, mortified, and covers his face in his hands, horrified that Mike’s been awake and watching him do it, wank himself like a kid having a wet dream in his sleep.

 

“Surely you know by now that I’m glad your body rouses to mine,” chuckles Mike gently, the hand now trickling down Armin’s neck to his chest where Mike splays his palm, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over one little pink nipple. Armin bites his lip and whines softly.

 

“I’m so embarrassed,” says Armin, albeit a little indistinctly through his hands.

 

“What you are,” murmurs Mike, his hand drifting even lower, “is adorable, and so lovely you take my breath away...and in a bit of a bad way. I want to help you, lad, but your backside isn’t up to lovemaking, not when almost every position would require at least a certain amount of pressure on your poor backside.”

 

“I’m all right,” mumbles Armin, knowing he’s blushing scarlet and relieved that it is at least dark.

 

“No,” whispers Mike, “but you will be. Here now…”

He rolls onto his back and urges Armin to his knees, maneuvering him until his thighs are splayed wide and one small hand is pressed against the wall for support while the other hand presses against Mike’s chest, the crinkle of the hair on it tickling his palm, up near the top of the bed, directly over Mike’s head. His eyes are closed in mortification but they fly open in shock and a cry is torn from his lips when Mike’s warm, wet mouth closes around his weeping cock and sucks gently. He struggles and tries to pull away, but Mike places a hand on his bottom to hold him in place and another cry is wrenched from him, of pain. He stops struggling and groans feelingly. The hand lets go.

 

“Mike, don’t,” he whimpers. “You don’t...I don’t need you to...Ohhh!”

 

“Let me,” breathes Mike, letting Armin’s erection pop free of his lips momentarily. “Up on your knees like that, I can pleasure you without your poor sore little arse having to lie on the bed, and it won’t hurt you at all...so long as you’re a good boy and don’t try to pull away so that I’ve got to grab your bum again.” He licks a slow stripe up the underside of Armin’s little penis, and Armin moans again, hips arching without his meaning them to.

 

“Oh….oh it feels...so good,” he gasps. Mike chuckles as he sucks on Armin’s cock like they’d done with icicles knocked from the eaves of the cottages with their fists in winter when he was in training, sprinkling them with sugar or dipping them in cherry syrup.

 

“That’s my boy,” says Mike in his deep bass rumble, forefinger and thumb encircling his boy’s pretty little cock and stroking softly up and down. “Does it? Does my baby boy like it when I take it in my mouth?” He flicks his tongue over the head, lapping at the slit where it slowly oozes clear fluid.

 

“Yes...oh, yes,” sighs Armin. Mike licks and suckles teasingly at his erection for several minutes while he pants and whimpers and moans, hips working helplessly. Every time he feels the pleasure that curls inside him start to tighten and build, Mike slows down, backs off to murmur to him some more, rubs his thumb back and forth over the reddened head of Armin’s cock, shiny with spit and precome. Armin’s cries and whimpers become strained. After about the fifth time Mike does this, he feels he can’t bear it anymore. When Mike’s mouth leaves his cock and he feels the air cooling the wetness on his length, Armin wails.

 

“Mike! Mike DON’T!” His fingernails dig unintentionally into Mike’s chest, and his gentle giant of a lover growls softly in mock threat.

 

“Watch those nails, little boy, or you’ll find yourself over my lap to see how you like a few spanks on your red bottom.”

 

“Mi-ike,” whines Armin, though he carefully flattens his fingers against the hardness of Mike’s pectoral muscle.

 

“Does my baby boy want to come?” whispers Mike, dark humor in his voice.

 

“Oh please don’t tease,” begs Armin. “I’ll die.”

 

“We can’t have that,” says Mike solemnly, fingers gently working his little lover’s erection.

 

“N-no-oh…”

 

“Do you want me to suck your pretty cock?”

 

“Ye-yes,” gasps Armin.

 

“Mm. Does my boy deserve to come?”

 

“Oh...oh...oh….I don’t know. May-maybe not, but oh Mike...I’ll be so good.”

 

“Will you then?”

 

“Yes, yes, please!”

 

“Will you promise to be a good little boy?” purrs Mike, his voice dark and rich and sinful.

 

“Oh, I will. I’ll be so good for you, Mike...anything...anything just...please, please let me come!”

 

“How can I refuse?”  With these words, Mike sucks the entirety of Armin’s cock into his mouth and to the top of his throat, sucking steadily and swallowing, the muscles of his throat working around the head where it just nudges down past the back of his tongue. He sucks firmly, and his tongue strokes the underside. Armin presses his right hand so hard against the wall his fingers turn white, and only manages to avoid digging his nails into Mike’s flesh again by sheer force of will. His hips roll, his round bottom clenching, and his head falls back, lips wet and red and swollen from being bitten in frustration and falling open, raw little cries torn from his throat. He howls raggedly, sobbing Mike’s name as pleasure coils tight in his belly and then rips through his body, his cock erupting and surging in Mike’s mouth. He spills down Mike’s throat, shuddering and gasping, and Mike swallows him down, the corners of his mouth curving in a wicked little smirk around Armin’s slowly softening cock.

 

With a last lick, he lets Armin’s penis fall from his mouth and smiles fondly up at his sweet baby boy, who stares down at him, pupils blown wide, lips parted as he pants softly, his face softly awed with the pleasure he’s been given. Mike helps him lay down on his tummy and breaks off another aloe leaf, tenderly applying the juice to his sore, swollen flesh once more. It’s not quite as bad as immediately after his spanking, but it still hurts, and Armin keens softly into his pillow and squirms a little. Mike’s fingertips dip between his cheeks and brush oh, so gently over his little pucker, finding it just a little bit tender and swollen from the times the weight of the strap and force of the whipping had forced Armin’s round cheeks to flatten and part enough for the sting of leather to kiss his tiny hole. Armin gasps as the slippery juice soothes his small anus. He cannot help but think about how it would feel for Mike to go further, to finger him slowly, open his hole with his fingers. To kneel behind him and press that huge, thick cock against his little pucker and to push it slowly...oh, so slowly...inside him while Armin squealed and writhed and even cried a little. He’s so big, and makes Armin feel as though he’ll surely burst, torn asunder by the impossibility of his size, and yet each and every time they make love, Mike coaxes Armin’s body to open for him, and his cries and sobs are of pleasure, and only every once in a while when they are in a hurry, does it ever hurt like the first time. Even then, there is something Armin loves about the sting and burn and ache of it, loves the way he squirms and writhes like a bug on a pin when he’s impaled, crying out helplessly as he’s taken. Claimed. Because Mike owns him, body, heart and soul.

 

“Ah lad,” murmurs Mike softly, taking his hand away and brushing it softly up and down Armin’s back, soothing him. “How I do love you.”

 

“What about,” whispers Armin, “what about you?”

 

“Ah, I’ll do, don’t you worry about me,” says Mike with a smile.

 

“But that’s not...I mean, you’re….erm... ready . I could…”

 

“No,” says Mike, his tone the one Armin knows means what it says. “What I did for you tonight was to show you how I love you still, no matter what happened earlier. And to ease your pain. My own pleasure, or the kind we share when I fuck you...that will keep, sweet boy. Just sleep now. I’ll be here if you need me. If I’m sleeping, you’ll wake me if the pain keeps you up or is too much for you to bear, and I’ll mix you some of the medicine I’ve got left over from when I sprained my ankle.”

 

Armin blinks sleepily and leans his head against Mike’s shoulder.

 

“‘Kay,” he mumbles, thinking to himself that he has the best and wisest and kindest and most perfect lover in all the world. “Love you too.” Just now, nothing hurts at all.


	4. Personal Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Armin both manage a rare day off at the same time, so Mike does something they have never done before. He asks Armin out on a date.
> 
> This is part one. It's getting longer than I'd intended, so I'm splitting it up.

“You’re not on patrol tomorrow, isn’t that right?” asks Mike, a little out of the blue. They’ve finished their supper. It had only been bread and a field greens salad and some hard cheese tonight. There hadn’t been a lot of time to hunt, and even the patrols hadn’t brought much game back this week, so everyone had been a little hungry, but they were used to it. They’re sitting on the lumpy sofa in front of the wood stove. It’s beginning to be Autumn, and a little chilly in the evenings, so they’ve begun to build the fire back up after dinner rather than allowing it to burn down. Armin stares into the flames, starting to be a little sleepy, his head tucked under Mike’s chin. He glances up.

 

“That’s right. The Commander says we’ve been pushing too hard...giving Levi a  look that tells me his day off might not be too relaxing because what he really means is that we’ve BEEN pushed too hard.” Armin stifles a giggle at this. It’s not that Mike has betrayed Erwin and Levi’s trust. It’s just that they spend more time than Armin had ever dreamed in Erwin’s offices or in his own cottage hashing out plans and strategies, and at some point Erwin and Levi had simply stopped trying as hard not to let what is between them show. They’ve been open with it around Mike for a long time, and Armin, it seems, has become an extension of the trust they show Mike. He’s very conscious of the honor, and wouldn’t dream of betraying them, not even to his best friend. Except that of course Eren already knows because he’s Levi’s...well. It can get confusing sometimes, but Armin’s learning to accept that he doesn’t have to understand a thing to accept that it makes someone happy so it’s all right. He’s not being malicious, but it’s hard not to feel at least a little mildy scandalised glee that his raging tyrant of a squad leader is probably going to get his backside tanned thoroughly for being too hard on his squad. Since Armin has been dragging himself to bed most nights with tears of exhaustion and pain in his eyes, causing Mike’s brows to lower thunderously, he tends to agree.

 

“Spend the day with me?” asks Mike softly. His low voice rumbles against Armin’s ear where his head is pressed against Mike’s chest. Armin lifts his head again, because the tone in Mike’s voice is almost shy.

 

“Don’t I always when neither of us is on duty? But I thought you had patrol?”

 

Mike shrugs one shoulder and his smile is secretive and pleased.

 

“I asked for leave. Erwin wants Mikasa to take my squad, try her out as Squad Leader, and she jumped at the chance, even if it meant giving up a day off. She’s born for it, that girl. My squad won’t give her any trouble, and it’ll be good experience for her. I wanted to take you...someplace special. We’ve never gone….well.” He shrugs again, and his voice is shy once more. Armin’s mouth falls open in a small O of surprise.

 

“Mike...are you...are you asking me on a date?” He’s nearly breathless with delight at the idea. Armin’s never been asked on a date in his life. And even though they’ve been lovers (the very idea of which still leaves him goose-pimply with awe most of the time) for a while now, it thrills him somehow.

 

“I...aye then, so I am. You deserve the be taken out and...made a fuss over. There’s a place I’d like to take you, somewhere I used to go when I was younger. Away from everything. If...that is, if you want to.”

 

“Of course I want to,” whispers Armin, pushing up with his hands on Mike’s muscled thighs to press a kiss under his jaw. “Yes, thank you, I’d love to spend the day with you.” Mike shudders a little at the brush of Armin’s lips on his skin.

 

“That’s settled then,” he says, sounding satisfied. “Be ready around ten, aye? I’ve an errand in the morning, but I’d like you to sleep in if you can, get some of the rest you’ve needed so badly this week.”

 

“Yes, sir,” whispers Armin, hiding a small, pleased smile against Mike’s neck when the honorific draws a low, pleased rumble from Mike’s chest. That Armin calls Mike “sir” has nothing to do with rank and everything to do with respect and belonging; trust given and earned. “Where are we going?” 

 

“Ah, ah. No questions, lad. It’s a surprise, and you’ll get nothing from me,” says Mike with a smile.

 

“Pleeeease?” wheedles Armin, giving him wide, guileless eyes and a hopeful expression.

 

“Not even a hint,” says Mike firmly, grinning wider. Armin feathers kisses down Mike’s throat and, nosing his collar aside, little fingers busily wrestling with buttons, his chest. 

 

“C’mon Mike, don’t be mean. I can make you feel good. Just a tiny hint?” Armin gasps and then lets out a delighted small yelp when Mike stands abruptly and strides to the bed with Armin dangling helplessly upside down in his powerful arms. 

 

“Ohh, I’ll show you mean, baby boy,” he growls, making quick work of Armin’s shirt and then unfastening his pants with a flick of his thumb that Armin never fails to find unbearably sexy (Armin always seems to have to struggle with hooks and snaps and buttons). A warm mouth closes over his left nipple while strong, gentle fingers slide inside his trousers to softly stroke his rapidly growing arousal. 

 

Although being thoroughly kissed while he’s carefully fingered open until he’s panting and begging into Mike’s mouth and then made love to sweetly and slowly doesn’t actually qualify as “mean” in any book Armin’s ever heard of, it does derail him from pestering Mike any more for hints about tomorrow’s plans. He tries to drum up enough energy to pout about it a little as he drifts off to sleep in Mike’s arms, the deep and pleasant ache inside him that always comes from sex with Mike because he’s just so big that even though he’s really careful Armin can feel it the next day (and if he’s honest, he wouldn’t mind if maybe Mike was just a little bit rougher with him SOMEtimes), he honestly can’t find it in himself anywhere. He’s too content. So he sleeps, wondering sleepily what tomorrow will bring.

Mike is gone when he wakes up. It still surprises him  how someone so big can manage to be so quiet, but Mike is quite a stealthy bastard when he wants to be. Armin yawns and sits up, stretching and moaning when the vertebra in his spine crack and pop. He rubs his eyes and peers out the window. About 8 in the morning he guesses, which is a good 2 or 3 hours longer than he usually sleeps. Feeling decadent, he slips out of the huge bed and pads over to the stove, where Mike has thoughtfully left the kettle warming. On the little cabinet beside it there is a heavy stoneware mug containing a tiny muslin bag filled with the herbal tea blend Armin likes to drink in the morning. There’s a note on a torn section of brown butcher paper, held down by the mug due to the windows on the south and west sides of the house having been opened by Mike before he left, to let the breeze in. It’s chilly at night, but the days are quite warm yet. He’d left the eastern windows closed to prevent the sun from shining in too brightly. Armin feels a pricking sensation at his eyelids as he considers all the little ways Mike is good to him. He reads the note as his tea steeps, its steam giving off fragrant hints of mint and licorice root and rose hips. Mike’s familiar, crabby scrawl makes him smile.

 

“Good morning, baby boy. Hope you slept well. Meet me at stables at ten. Dress comfortably. Wear your harness but not gear. Bring a jacket in case we’re out past sunset. You looked beautiful this morning.”

 

It is signed with a great, sprawling M. Armin folds the note carefully and goes to his little dresser that he and Mike built together so he’d have his own place for his things. He still keeps things in the room he’d shared with Eren, because he sleeps there when Mike’s gone overnight, but most of his stuff is here. At the bottom of the little dresser there’s a carved wooden box Armin has had since he was a kid. He doesn’t remember where it came from. He likes it, because the carvings on the front are of birds and funny little eight-legged armored creatures and pretty shells which he recognizes as belonging to the huge water called the ocean, the place he plans to visit one day when it is once again safe to travel. The box contains Armin’s treasures. Most of them would be meaningless to anyone but him, for few have real value. To him, they are priceless. He has a button off the coat his mother made for him when he was really little. Most buttons are carved from horn, or occasionally cast from pewter, and he knows that wealthy people have them made of silver or even gold sometimes. This button is blue ceramic and has a tiny face painted on it. He can’t remember what it was originally, because he grew out of the little blue coat it went with then he was about six, and the features are worn almost entirely away. A puppy or kitten, probably. He has a picture Eren drew for him when they were kids in school together. It’s terrible. It’s supposed to be a picture of the three of them together, but they look more like horrifyingly disproportionate scarecrows with too many or too few fingers on their fat, circular hands. You can only tell them apart because of the color of their hair. But scribbled under the terrible drawing in Eren’s messy nine-year-old scrawl are their names, and then the words, “My best friends.” There are a few scattered stones he thinks are pretty, a feather, scattered crumbs of dried flower petals, a carved wooden bird someone has worked on sitting around in barracks during training and then thrown on the refuse pile from which Armin had rescued it because it’s pretty, a length of tatted lace his grandpa used to carry because his wife had made it, and a number of other little keepsakes from his childhood. In addition to these, there is a broken handle from a  wooden spoon. His cheeks turn pink as he touches it with his finger. It had been rather an old spoon. The very one Mike had used to spank Armin the night they made love for the first time. When it had broken a couple of weeks later, Armin had rescued it from the kindling pile when Mike wasn’t at home. On top, in a little bundle tied with a broken leather thong filched from Mike’s leatherworking kit, are every note Mike has written him from the very first day. He unties the thong carefully and adds this new note to the top of the little stack, then ties the bundle back securely, returning it to the box and stowing the box back in the bottom of his dresser after giving the lid a little pat. He drinks his tea and munches absently on a piece of bread while he considers what he wants to wear.

 

He’s far too excited to eat, but he knows Mike would be displeased if he didn’t, so he manages, frowning over the meager contents of his wardrobe. He wishes Mike had given him a hint as to what they’d be doing so he could decide a little easier. He’d said comfortable. Biting his lip, Armin pulls out a blue shirt Mikasa had given him for his birthday last year. She’d said it matches his eyes. He hasn’t had a reason to wear it yet. Maybe Mike will think it looks nice. He has a pair of tan riding breeches that fit tightly enough that he can wear his harness over them without them bunching anywhere, but it’ll be nice not to have to wear his uniform breeches anyway. He’ll have to wear the boots. They’re the only ones he has that are designed to work with the harness, having attachment points inside for the outer calf strap to run through. He lays out his choices on the bed, smoothing the blue shirt with his fingertips. The fabric is so soft. He wonders again where she’d gotten it. It seems almost too fine for an occasion where he’s been instructed to dress “comfortably,” but he really wants to look nice for Mike.

 

He rushes to the shower, gasping a little because this early in the day, the water is always a little chilly. They don’t keep the boiler in back of the cottage going except in winter, because of the exorbitant amount of wood it uses. The collection tank on the roof can be filled by a hand-pump from the plumbing leading to a nearby underground spring, but it’s designed to catch rain water as well. Erwin’s very proud of the design, especially because to a casual observer it appears that the little river running through their permanent camp is their water source, one which would be easy to contaminate from upstream. The tank is black on the outside and silver on the inside, to make the best use of absorbtion and reflection to heat its contents steadily throughout the day. The best showers are to be taken just after sundown. But Armin wants to look and smell nice for Mike. He scrubs every inch of himself until his skin is pink and tingly all over and smells of the herbal soap they keep in a little brown bowl in the clay-tiled bathing stall. 

 

Scarlet with embarrassment and terribly glad he’s alone in the little cabin, he even makes use of the combination of small leather bladder and tubing and nozzle that uses water to clean you on the inside as well. It’s awkward and humiliating and quite uncomfortable...well, except for the part where he puts some oil on the nozzle and slowly pushes it up inside himself, working it gently back and forth to seat it fully. That part makes him feel kind of squirmy and excited, thinking about how Mike does that with his fingers, and how he hopes that’s going to happen as part of their date. Even though since they did it last night, he’s kind of sore today and usually Mike won’t fuck him two days in a row because he doesn’t want to hurt Armin. He stands there naked in the neccessary, having put the cleansing supplies away, still a bit red in the face, and he touches himself, small fingers squirming between his round little cheeks to softly stroke the tiny pucker of his entrance. His breath catches, and he bites his lip. It’s still a little slippery with the honeysuckle oil, and the tip of his finger slips inside easily.

 

“Oh,” he gasps, and feels himself start to harden a little. “Mm,” he sighs, letting his eyes fall closed and his head tip back as he thinks about Mike holding him down and pressing his thick fingers inside while Armin squirms and whimpers. The ache in his flesh is faint, because Armin’s fingers are slender and delicate, but if Mike were doing it, he’d feel it more. He imagines how he’d cry out a little when it was two fingers, imagines Mike asking him what’s wrong.

 

“It hurts,” he whispers, lost in the picture he paints for himself behind his closed lids. “Oh...it hurts.” Daydream-Mike grins when he says it, and pushes his fingers in a little harder, making Armin whine and struggle, so that he must be held down forcefully. His cock is fully hard now, bobbing gently between his legs as he lets out a tiny, plaintive sound.

 

“Please Mike,” he breathes, sliding his finger inside himself a little deeper, startled when he pushes past tightly grasping muscle and into a silky softness to delicate it’s hard to believe it’s part of his body. Especially there, where it seems everything should somehow be sort of...crude. “Please….please no.”

 

“You’re mine, and I’m having you,” growls daydream-Mike, pushing Armin over and bending him forcefully over something indistinct but hard and unyielding. His legs are forced wide, his cheeks spread, while he whimpers and Mike forces his fingers in, stretching his bottom open roughly. He imagines begging and begging while Mike takes out his great big cock and presses it against Armin’s tiny hole, pleading that he’s so sore and he can’t take it again, only Mike pushes his huge cock inside Armin’s body anyway and oh...oh it hurts, it burns and aches and he squeals and struggles and Mike slaps his bottom very hard and warns him to be good, and Armin sobs while Mike fucks his way inside the tiny red hole, and his big strong hands hold Armin in place and he makes that pleased rumbly sound in his chest at the noises Armin is making and he doesn’t stop. Not when Armin begs, and not when he cries and cries. He fucks Armin hard and deep, and Armin pleads and squirms and bawls but his little cock gets hard, oh so hard anyway, and Mike just takes him, and makes him like it, and finally makes him beg through his sobs to be allowed to come like a naughty, filthy little slutboy. The next thing Armin knows, his seed spatters softly on the floor and his eyes open wide in shocked panic at what he’s done. Oh, how embarrassing. How dirty. He scrambles to clean up his mess and combs his hair before it can dry flying away in all directions as it will do if he doesn’t smooth it down before it dries, then cleans his teeth and washes his hands, the crimson staining his cheeks not beginning to fade until he goes back to the bedroom to put on his clothes and has to sink down onto the bed and hide his face in his hands, groaning. Oh, how in the world is he going to tell Mike what he’s done? He’ll just die if he has to. Mike won’t be mad at him. He’s never mad if Armin touches himself. He likes knowing that thinking of him arouses his young lover so that he can’t help it. But he usually demands to know what Armin thinks about while he does it. And to do so now, before their special day, seems somehow an extra naughty thing to do. What if Mike’s disappointed? What if he wanted Armin to wait, to save that for when they’re together? He takes a deep breath when he feels himself starting to panic. Mike isn’t like that. He’s not mean, and he’s understanding and kind. Armin will just go have a wonderful time with his lover, and when the time comes...if it does...that he needs to tell Mike what happened, he’ll do it, even if it’s awkward, and it will be fine. Because that’s how things are between them. Bolstered by this, he hurries into his clothes and dons his harness with the ease of endless practice. He’s pretty sure he’s okay on time as he glances at the sun, but checks the clock tower to be sure when he shuts the cabin door. He has ten minutes, and the stable isn’t far, but he hurries along anyway, in case someone tries to stop him to talk, because he wants Mike to see that it’s important to him, that it matters enough to be on time. Besides, he’s dying to find out what’s going to happen. 

 

Mike’s already there waiting for him, leaning over his horse’s stall, petting the huge bay gelding. Brutus is by far the biggest horse in the survey corps, but he’s not a draft horse. He’s just tall and muscular and big-boned, but still fast and agile for his bulk, like Mike. The tall, powerful man looks up when he hears Armin’s boots clattering on the cobblestones and looks up, a grin lighting his face. Mike’s not necessarily classically handsome like the Commander. His nose is a little too big, his hair too shaggy and unstyled, his eyes having a tendency to squint a little when he smiles, and his teeth are a little crooked. But his silvered blue eyes remind Armin of the hot summer sky when Mike’s happy, and he likes the laugh lines around his eyes that make him squint. They remind him of the pictures he’s seen of a stormy sea when Mike is angry, though he’s never shown anger at Armin. And they remind him of a wolf’s eyes, predatory and hungry and filling Armin with shivers when he’s aroused. He loves Mike’s big nose, and the way his hair gets in his eyes and how it’s getting long enough for him to pull the top part back and it makes him look kind of dashing. Mike’s skin is the color of warm burnished gold, when it’s old and has a lovely soft patina to it. He loves to swim in the river in the summertime, so the only part of his body that isn’t warm and golden is from the middle of his thighs up to his waist, where his skin is fair and Armin is the only one who sees it and Mike lets him suck bruises into the thin skin over his hip bones and just whispers Armin’s name and bucks against him. Everything about Mike is beautiful to Armin, and the really truly astonishing thing is that when Mike looks at him, he sees that he is just as beautiful in the older man’s eyes.

 

“I’m here,” he says breathlessly. Mike’s grin widens more.

 

“You look a picture,” he says softly. “That shirt suits you, lad.”

 

“Thank you,” gasps Armin. Mike looks good to him too. He’s not wearing his leather tasset, so the straps of his harness that frame his pelvis and ass are plain to see, and make Armin’s mouth water a little. His pants are awfully tight, and Armin thinks the soft golden-buff color may be deerskin, which Mike sometimes tans himself when there’s time in the winter. Mike’s hides are soft as velvet, and Armin longs to touch him to find out. He’s wearing only a skin--tight cotton sleeveless undershit to keep his harness from chafing, and his arm muscles shift and bulge as he pets Brutus under his forelock before stepping away. Mike picks up his leather hunting jacket off a nearby post and shrugs it on. That’s when Armin notices he’s wearing his gear, which is a little confusing since he’d instructed Armin not to. 

 

Mike strolls up the aisle of the stable to where Armin stands, aware of his little lover’s wide-eyed regard and enjoying it. He reaches out, and Armin takes his proferred hand.

 

“D’you like what you see?” asks Mike, wrinkling his nose and smiling even bigger.

 

“Oh,” whispers Armin, “oh yes. You...you’re beautiful.”

 

Mike laughs out loud and leans down to steal a kiss, ignoring a couple of new recruits walking by outside who stop to gawk at them. Erwin makes it clear to everyone who joins the survey corps that everybody’s sexual preference is to be respected, so long as what they’re doing isn’t against anybody’s will or damaging them, but it’s a bit of an adjustment to the staunchly heterosexual young boys who come to them straight out of training.

 

“Can’t say as I’ve ever been called THAT before. Well then, are you ready to go?”

 

“Aren’t we…” says Armin hesitantly when Mike leads him out of the stable and towards one of the many little cart paths and horse trails that lead from base, “I mean, when you said meet you at the stables I thought we’d be riding somewhere?”

 

“Ah. No,” says Mike easily, swinging their hands between them a little for no other reason than that he wants to, and it is one of the countless little silly things he does that make Armin love him more and more. “It was just closest this this trail here, and it’s the one I want.”

 

“Oh...okay,” agrees Armin, and they walk along in companionable silence for a time. “Mike?” he asks after about ten minutes during which all they do is get farther and farther away from camp and deeper into the woods.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why’d you tell me not to wear my gear when you’re wearing yours?”

 

Mike stops at this and looks around.

 

“I think we’re far enough away now so’s nobody will notice. Armin...do you trust me?” He asks seriously.

 

“Of course,” says Armin with no hesitation.

 

Mike leans against a nearby tree trunk and hooks his thumbs in the shoulder straps of his harness.

 

“I’ve seen you watch us, the more experienced soldiers and the people like Mikasa and Reiner and Bertholdt who are the top ranked at using their 3DMG. You told me once when you were having a bad day that you hated that you’d never be able to feel what they feel when we use it the way only we can. Do you remember?”

 

“Yes,” says Armin, hanging his head a little. He’s been trying not to compare himself to other people since Mike has been trying so patiently to show him how truly NOT lacking he is in ways they cannot even begin to equal. But oh, how amazing they look when they soar through the air. Armin will never be anything more than adequate with his gear.

 

“Armin,” says Mike, who then leans down and takes Armin in his arms, standing up to his full height. “Wrap your arms and legs around me, all right? That’s it, good and tight, and don’t let go. Can you stay like that for a while?”

 

“I think so,” says Armin cautiously, wondering where this line of questioning is heading. He completely unprepared for the reality of it when Mike suddenly starts to run.

  
“Now trust me,” says Mike, grinning at him a little wildly, “and HANG ON!”


	5. Personal Day Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from Personal Day, Mike gives Armin a very special gift. Picnics are had. 
> 
> This chapter is not as explicit as others, but it's building up to tons of it in the next (and probably final) part of this 3-part chapter. Geez.
> 
> So for now it is just a cute boy being cute and a great big teddy bear being Mike. Hang in there, it'll get dirty, I promise

With that, Mike shows Armin what it’s like to fly. He launches himself into the air, cannisters hissing as his grapples deploy. Armin shrieks when they leave the ground and soar high into the sky. His arms and legs grip Mike convulsively until the initial shock wears off. It’s not that he’s afraid of heights, or of the familiar sensation of the great swings and dips and falls inherent to the use of the maneuver gear as locomotion, he’s just startled. In a few moments, he loosens his death grip around Mike’s neck.

 

“How are you…?” he cries. This shouldn’t be possible, and yet here he is, in Mike’s arms, in the air. Mike glances down at him and his teeth show bright white and feral in his face when he smiles.

 

“It’s something we’ve been working on, Hanji and I, in secret, because we weren’t sure it’d work. I’m the only one strong enough to do it. My belt system is reinforced, and my tanks are a little larger, designed for a higher output. I’m carrying some extra weight, but we needed to give my gear a lot of extra power. The cables are reinforced too. It’s a fine line to cut, because to carry more weight, we have to add more weight, and we’ve kept reaching a point where they kinda cancelled each other out. I couldn’t carry anybody biggern’ you, Levi, Christa and Connie right now, for example, but we hope to get it so’s I can rescue just about anyone in a pinch. You okay, baby boy?”

 

Armin slides his hand under one of the shoulder straps across Mike’s chest. It is, indeed, thicker and sturdier than the straps of a regular harness. He wraps his fingers around it and holds on, keeping his other arm around Mike’s neck and his legs around Mike’s waist, ankles crossed just under his gear compressor. His eyes shine like sunlight on the big blue lily pond in the big meadow where people still go to gather wildflowers for may baskets on May Day. His silky-fine hair flies in his face and gets stuck in his widely grinning mouth. He doesn’t care. He looks around at the trees skimming past fast as thought and it takes his breath away. The ground speeds by under them in a blur. Mike isn’t as agile as some of the smaller soldiers (though he’s surprisingly deft for his size) but he’s fast. He’s the fastest of anyone except Levi and possibly Mikasa, because he uses all his considerable muscle to fling his body higher and farther than anyone can. Armin has never moved so fast in all his life. 

 

“Oh Mike. I’m….yes, yes I’m fine. It’s….it’s wonderful!” he cries. He hides his face against Mike’s throat for a few moments as the joy of it and his sense of feeling so cherished and touched that he can hardly breathe rise up to overwhelming levels. He kisses the side of Mike’s neck and his body squirms just a little, as though he wishes he could get closer. This brings their lower bodies into even more intimate contact than they already are, and Armin realizes Mike is aroused. He feels rather than hears the soft growl rumbling in Mike’s chest.

 

“Have a care there, lad,” says his lover in a low, deep voice. “If you distract me too much I might not be able to fly safe...and I’d hate to begin our date with a spanking.”

 

Armin, exhilarated beyond anything he’s ever felt in his entire life by the speed and the thrill of speeding through the woods hell for leather with nothing but the strength of his own grip between him and a long fall with a short, nasty stop at the end and by the heady realization that Mike trusts HIM enough to be able to hang on while he lets it rip and flies as fast as he can, feels a little drunk when he opens his mouth to quip at Mike.

 

“No you wouldn’t. You’d love it. And...and I would too. But I won’t distract you, Mike. I don’t want you to stop. It’s...it’s perfect. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for giving me this.”

 

Mike’s eyes take on that intent wolfish focus that takes Armin’s breath away and he swears he feels the older man’s cock twitch against his own. 

 

“You,” growls Mike softly, “are just about the naughtiest little boy I’ve ever met, Armin Arlert, and I am a damned lucky man. All right, if you like it, let’s make it really interesting. You just speak up right away if you feel your grip slipping, hear me?”

 

“Yes Sir,” promises Armin. Mike’s eyes promise him everything dirty he’s ever wanted and more.

 

And then Mike Zacharius shows his sweet little young thing one very good reason why he is Erwin Smith’s second in command. They swoop low to slalom between the thick, ancient tree trunks mere inches above the forest floor, the wind in their wake setting leaves and pine needles to dancing at their passing. Armin’s world turns almost upside down as Mike flings them high into a reckless plunge into the sky and then a dizzying free fall back towards the earth, only to catch them in plenty of time with a perfectly timed juicy thunk of his grapple into the trunk of a huge forest giant of an ancient white pine. Armin can’t decide if he prefers twisting a bit so he can watch where they’re going, see the world around him in a way he never has before and knows he never will again, at a speed he’s only imagined and dreamed of...or staring raptly into Mike’s face, at the nearly feral expression he sees there. Mike loves this. Loves his gear, is at one with it in a way Armin will never be, makes it an extension of his body until he IS this wild, exultant flying beast and not a man and a machine. Coupled with his obvious arousal and the possessive pride in his frequent hooded glances at Armin, he is so beautiful he quite takes Armin’s breath away. 

 

At the rate at which they’re travelling, Armin has no idea how far they’ve actually come. Miles. Mike may have flown them in some circles, but Armin’s too enamored to have noticed. Or cared. He does start to notice that his arms and legs are starting to ache, and when he does, he also notices a fine, faint tremble in the muscles of Mike’s arms.

 

“I’m getting tired,” he says softly, with no little regret. Mike nods and their speed slows immediately. They’re on the ground moments later, on the edge of a wood at the foot of a steep hill.

 

“Then you’ve excellent timing,” says Mike with a smile, breathing heavily but setting him down gently and steadying him when his legs show a tendency to wobble. “We’re here.” Armin doesn’t pay attention to this announcement. He’s too busy flinging himself into Mike’s arms, thanking him breathlessly and repeatedly. Mike chuckles when he can breathe a little easier and hugs his cute little lover close. “Did you like it, then?” he asks, once again sounding almost shy. “I’d hoped you would. I didn’t want you to take it amiss, think I meant to insult ye…”

 

“No!” says Armin fiercely. “No, it was incredible. You showed me how to fly. Mike...I...thank you.”

 

“I’m glad, but you don’t have to keep thanking me, lad. It was my pleasure too. Watching you, seeing how you reacted to it, it was like a gift for me too. I think I’d forgotten how much I love it, because I never take time to do it for fun anymore.”

 

“It’s not just the ride,” says Armin, gripping Mike’s forearm and looking up at him urgently, hoping he’s eloquent enough to convey how he feels. “It’s...it’s that you asked did I trust you, but you...you just automatically trusted me.” Mike frowns a little, quizzical. “You...you didn’t ask if I could hold on. You didn’t...keep warning me or worry or fuss about it….you had faith that I could. You believed I was strong enough to handle it.”

 

“Well, and you did,” says Mike with a gentle smile, smoothing Armin’s tousled hair out of his face. “You’re stronger than you think, and braver than you know. But I know.”

 

This particular statement requires more than just vocal thanks, so Armin goes on tiptoes and grabs Mike’s hair, something he used to be terrified to try until the time Mike grabbed his hands and shoved them into the soft, tawny strands of his hair and ordered him shortly to make fists and not let go. Upon being obeyed, he’d grabbed Armin’s wrists and used his own strength to make Armin pull his hair, leaning his neck and head back as he did so, pulling against the steady tug he was creating, looking Armin dead in the eye. He’d let go with one hand and untangled one of Armin’s fists, then pressed the boy’s smaller hand firmly to his crotch where his erection surged against the confines of his trousers.

 

“Get me?” he’d asked in a rough, rumbling voice. Armin had nodded faintly, whereupon Mike had proceeded to demonstrate a great many other things he also enjoyed. Armin hasn’t been nervous about pulling Mike’s hair anymore since then. He yanks until Mike obliges him and lowers his head enough to be kissed. Mike makes a soft, hungry sound in his throat and kisses him back thoroughly. When they part, stepping back, both breathing heavily, Mike chuckles softly and shakes his head a little.

 

“How you do arouse me so, Armin Arlert,” he says. “But our lunch won’t wait forever. I think I see a determined little party crasher up there now, trying to help himself.”

 

Armin looks where Mike points. On top of the hill stands a little house. It’s obvious no one lives there, as it only has half a roof and there is an enormous sunflower growing out of the doorstep and nodding gently in the breeze as though welcoming guests inside. Not far from where they’re standing at the foot of the hill below the little house, hidden behind a big blackberry bramble, he notices a loosely tethered horse contentedly grazing beside a little wagon. 

 

“How did that...who else is here?” he asks in surprise as Mike takes his hand and they begin to climb the steep hill.

 

“Just us, Daffodil there, and the little fox up there trying to untie the knot on one of the boxes there,” answers Mike.

 

“How did they GET here?”

 

“I said I had some things to do this morning, did I not?” Mike grins triumphantly at the excited look dawning on Armin’s face. The reach the little cottage and he pushes the door open. It creaks loudly. He bows with a flourish and waves Armin grandly inside the old abandoned cottage. Armin steps across the threshold and gasps. 

 

Inside the old cottage, grass grows up through some of the cracks in the wood floor. Sunlight catches dust motes dancing and they almost seem to glitter, brilliant in the gaping hole bigger than Armin in the middle of the roof. The place has clearly been abandoned for years. But Mike has taken a ramshackle ruin and turned it into something so lovely it takes his breath away. Under the shelter of the part of the roof that remains, where the shade keeps it cool, there are heaps and mounds of cushions inviting someone to lounge upon them. The dusty, weedy floor is covered with several brightly colored rag braid and woven rugs into a patchwork of jewel tones. A snowy white table cloth covers a large rectangular object, much too short to be an actual table. It’s some kind of big, flat-topped wooden chest, probably the one that had held the cushions on the way here. Stoneware dishes set the makeshift table, and a vase in the middle contains a rioting burst of early Autumn wildflowers. Light refracts through crystal glasses next to a dark green bottle with a hand towel tied around its neck, open, a cork lying on the white tablecloth beside it. As they step inside, there’s a wild scrabbling noise and a little red fox flees in panic when he’s interrupted in the process of gnawing determinedly at the ties knotting the lid of another box down firmly. There are several boxes, in fact, and their contents are revealed when Mike leads him to the cushions and settles him there, then opens the boxes and begins to take out their contents. Armin’s eyes widen in shock. Everyone in the Survey Corps has been a little lean recently, as fresh meat has been in short supply. But in the box, wrapped in a cloth, there is a good-sized hunk of cold, very lean roast beef that goes on a plate with a sharp knife for carving it. Next to that, on a wooden cutting board, he lays down a small round cheese, encased in wax, and a crusty loaf of bread. Next to the bread, two tiny fat stone jars; one of fresh butter, the other of honey. There’s a bowl filled with blackberries that look as though they’ve been fresh-picked from the canes at the bottom of the hill, as well as an apple and a pear. There’s some cold potato salad and a jar of crisp, tart pickles. Last, but definitely not least, Mike pulls out a flaky little pear tart just the right size for two people to share. 

 

“Oh,” whispers Armin in awe, “oh Mike. Where did you GET all this?”

 

Mike glances at him while he proceeds to slice the roast beef into very thin slices, gesturing with his chin for Armin to do the cheese. As the boy’s small hands begin to peel away the wax covering, Mike tells him.

 

“Well, there’s a wealthy merchant whose family table may be short an item or two at supper tonight, but he owed me a favor for saving his life once a year or so back. Or...he thought he owed me a favor for it. And considered the debt cheaply paid when I asked for a few delicacies for a special treat for a special someone. He asked me who the lucky lady was.” Mike laughs softly, shaking his head. “I just told him it was someone I worked with. He’s a conservative fellow, and a bit short-sighted with it. I considered telling him the truth, as shockingly as I could manage, but I thought you’d appreciate the feast more than the retelling of the expression on his face when I told him my lover was no lady, but a lad so fine and fierce that he leaves me breathless and humble when I’ve spent myself inside his sweet little body.”

 

Armin’s breath hitches and he lets out a soft whine at Mike’s words. Mike’s mouth quirks, but the smile is rueful.

 

“Don’t worry though, lad. There’s plenty of pleasure to be had between us without that. I know you’re a bit tender from last night’s loving. I’d have saved it for today, but I did want ye so.”

 

Armin ducks his head, paying attention to the cheese he’s slicing, so that Mike can’t see the little frown on his face, and steers the subject back to the feast at hand.

 

“You chose right,” he says softly, though he’s thinking hard at the same time. “This is better than shocking one short-sighted old merchant. I’m going to feel a little guilty though, enjoying this much food while our friends just have bread and cheese again today.”

 

“Don’t worry,” says Mike, puffing out his chest a little. “The fat old man considered it a very BIG favor, and when he heard the Survey Corps was a little short on rations this week, he sent over a whole beef and several hams, as well as two dozen good laying hens, eight sacks of beans and five sacks of potatoes.”

 

“Oh, I’m so glad,” cries Armin, who now attacks the little wheel of cheese with enthusiasm, imagining the looks on Eren  and the rest of his friends’ faces….especially Sasha’s...when they trudge into the mess expecting more bread and hard cheese or perhaps oat porridge for their lunches and find a good, thick ham and bean stew instead. 

 

“Now let’s eat, shall we, my fine and fierce little lover?” asks Mike, flopping down beside him on the cushions while Armin nods happily. The food smells so good, and even better now that it’s not tainted by guilt. Mike picks up the green glass bottle and pours some of its contents into two wine glasses. He hands one to Armin and takes the other himself, lifting it and holding out expectantly. Armin beams at him and taps the rim of his glass to Mike’s. The crystal chimes musically, and they both sip from their glasses. A rich, fruity  purple  taste floods his mouth with hints of plum and blackberry and elderberry. There’s a bit of a bite to it at the end, but the sweetness remains in his mouth, lingering on his tongue and in his nose.

 

“Oh, it’s good,” he exclaims. 

 

“Well, it’s nothing fancy,” says Mike, lifting one shoulder. “Just some homemade stuff a fellow I know who owns a farm not far from here makes every year. He only does about a hundred bottles, but he always saves me a few. It’s not very strong. You can drink a glass or two without worrying about being tipsy or having a bad head from it later. And here’s to you, my beautiful boy. My heart. My Armin.”

 

Mike wraps a thin slice of the roast beef around a slice of cheese and holds it to Armin’s lips. He opens his mouth obediently and takes a bite. The roast beef is so tender it almost melts in his mouth. He’s never tasted anything like it. His eyelids flutter closed and he moans softly in sheer pleasure at the flavor. Mike curses softly under his breath. Armin’s eyes fly open to see what’s wrong, to find his lover staring at his face with the food forgotten in his hand, his stormy eyes hot and intent on Armin’s plump little mouth.

 

“Wh….what’s wrong?” whispers Armin.

 

“If you keep making sounds like that when I feed you, lad,” growls Mike, “this is going to be a very short picnic!”

 

Armin blushes and smiles shyly at Mike, peeking up through his eyelashes, which possibly doesn’t help much at all. As he’s being thoroughly kissed, however, Armin notices something on a wall of the little abandoned house and it’s interesting enough to make him stop teasing Mike.

 

“What’s that?” he asks a little breathlessly, pointing to the dark scribbles on the crumbling whitewash of the wall, going green with mold and damp. Mike huffs out a soft laugh.

 

“Oh that. Juvenile vandals did it years ago.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because I was one of them,” confesses Mike, and he and Armin crawl over to look at the graffiti scratched onto the wall with charcoal. “Erwin and Nile and I used to sneak out and come here sometimes. This was sort of our….ah….secret clubhouse.”

 

“Slayers?” asks Armin,  trying not to giggle, and completely enchanted to find that Mike is doing his best to actually blush a little.

 

“Hm. Well, we were pretty young, you know. That was our...our….um. Gang. We were going to get tattoos if we could’ve found someone to do them. We were gonna be the best titan slayers the world’s ever known.”

 

“Two of you are,” says Armin softly. A shadow crosses Mike’s face when he thinks of Nile, but he shakes it off, not wanting to darken their special day.

 

“Not the best,” he protests self-deprecatingly.

  
“You and the Commander are two OF the best then,” says Armin staunchly. “So even without your tattoos, I think you fulfilled your dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the thing about the experimental 3dmg after realizing it's said that they literally can carry nothing but themselves and their own gear when using said gear. No idea of something like that would be plausible, but I like the way it sounds. 
> 
> I haven't tended to ask for reviews because I really don't want to sound immature or needy, but I'd love to know what you guys think of this pairing and whether I'm making your expectations for it


	6. Personal Day Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Mike and Armin's day out. Things get much racier from here on out. Okay, no. From here on out there is just porn. The sex is a little rough but very consensual. Still, it's intense for Armin, so be aware of that if crying during sex is a trigger for you. Although if you've read the third chapter and you're still here, it's probably not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explore Armin's growing confidence in himself and his own desires. I imagine that part of his attraction to Mike is due to a little bit of a size kink on his part, and even though Armin's never going to crave pain or intense S&M play like someone like Levi, he's becoming able to admit to himself that he does like a little bit of pain with his sex when he's aroused enough. This isn't a sickness on his part. Mike makes it simple when he points out that lots of people like having their hair pulled or being bitten, and this doesn't make them deviants. The members of the Survey Corps live lives fraught with danger, pain, horror and grief. I don't think it should come as a surprise to anyone that their desires when they're with their lovers are for things a little more intense than the run-of-the-mill. They'd have to learn to shut off or at least separate themselves from their emotions a lot of the time or all they'd do would be shriek in horrified denial. With their lovers, their emotions and feelings can be set free a little, but I maintain that many of them would want and need to have those feelings forced from them, to have their defenses torn down a little, would want to claw and bite and struggle and such because with a lover is one of the very few places they can be safe to feel things so intensely. Armin is growing up, and he's learning about what he likes. He's fortunate enough to have a lover who can help him with this, and understands, and doesn't treat Armin like he's a kid who doesn't know his own mind.

Mike’s fingers drift over the fading words and he smiles, a little wistful, but there’s a light in his eyes at Armin’s words too, as if he’s never actually considered that this is true. At this point they both  realize they actually are ravenous and fall on the delicious treats Mike has managed to wrangle with a good will. Armin can’t remember enjoying a meal more. They lounge on the piles of cushions like lazy, contented cats and feed each other bites of meat and cheese, or bread and butter, or tiny hastily constructed sandwiches, or a berry or slice of apple or pear, taking turns choosing for themselves or for each other what they’ll have next. Mike licks blackberry juice from Armin’s fingers and then his chin. By the time they are sated, nothing remains of the food but crumbs and scraps and a good bit of the honey. Armin is straddling Mike’s lap and tracing his smirking mouth with a finger he’s dipped into the little stone pot and then licking it off and Mike is tolerating it. 

 

“How come you only get to taste that off of me, hmm?” he asks, his deep baritone voice gone all rough and growly with arousal. Armin can go from zero to desperate and leaking all over the inside of his drawers in mere seconds from Mike’s voice alone when he sounds this way. Giggling a little, he brings his finger to his own lips and smears the honey on like lip dye, then leans down obediently so Mike’s tongue can slowly and teasingly   savor it too. Armin’s not sure exactly how it happens (ok so of course he knows HOW these things happen, he’s just not exactly aware of WHEN it happens because all he’s really thinking about is kissing Mike and how good it is) but he becomes aware that they’ve both lost their shirts when Mike’s thumb rubs lazily over his right nipple and it pebbles under his touch. He moans softly into the kiss. Mike hums approvingly.

 

“Mm,” purrs his lover into his ear, “This gives me an idea.”

 

When he’s got that particular tone to his voice, Mike has NEVER had a bad idea as far as Armin’s concerned!

 

“Yes,” he pants, leaning up for more kisses.

 

“Just yes? You do n’t want to hear what it is?” There’s a dark, silky quality to the way Mike asks that makes Armin clear his brain enough to sit up and look down at the wicked smirk on the older man’s face. He shivers deliciously because he just knows it’s going to be good, but thinks maybe it’s wise to find out what Mike has in mind. He knows down to his bones that Mike wo n’t hurt him, but that does n’t mean some of the things they do are n’t a little embarrassing  sometimes .

 

“Wha….ngh...what is it?” he gasps.

 

Mike picks up a white linen napkin and Armin’s heart speeds up. He wonders what Mike plans to do with it. Tie him up maybe? They do that  sometimes . It makes Armin feel thrillingly helpless, but it’s almost always very, very frustrating. To his utter shock, Mike folds and twists the napkin and then places it over his own eyes, tying it in a knot behind his head. He lays back on the cushions and folds his arms behind his head.

 

“Let’s play hide and seek,” he says softly, teasingly, his mouth curving in a filthy smile. The stark white of the blindfold is startling against his tawny skin. It does n’t make him look the least bit helpless or vulnerable though. Instead, it lends him an air of violence contained, of power temporarily leashed, and is unbearably attractive.

 

“What do you  mean?” asks Armin, staring avidly at Mike’s face because Mike can’t see him doing it.

 

Mike reaches down unerringly and touches the honey pot in Armin’s hand.

 

“You hide this,” he says, “anywhere you want, as long as it’s on you. And I’ll find it. And lick it off.”

 

Armin looks down at the little stone pot with its thick, sweet golden contents and thinks about what Mike’s saying. So many things go through his head all at once that it makes him feel a little dizzy. His cheeks turn pink as his face flushes with images of the places he could smear that sweet, sticky fluid and then oh...oh my...with the thoughts of Mike licking it off. Can he?  Dare he? He looks down at the shoulder and chest straps of his harness hanging loose around his waist where Mike has unbuckled them to get his shirt off. They’d flown to get here. Him, mousy little Armin Arlert, hurtling through the forest, through the sky, hanging on with nothing but the strength of his own arms and legs, and he had n’t been afraid. His chin lifts.

 

“I think that sounds like a really good game,” he says pertly, and is rewarded by a deep, approving laugh.

 

“Well, get busy then, naughty boy. How naughty can you be, Armin?” breathes Mike, rolling his hips a little against Armin’s round bottom where he sits straddling Mike’s lap. He giggles and rolls off of the much larger man to lie beside him on three of the big squashy cushions. Slowly, biting his lip, he dips a finger into the honey and then lifts it out, watching the stuff drizzle off his fingertip until it slows enough that he wo n’t drip it everywhere and make a sticky mess. Feeling decadent, he brushes the honey across first one nipple and then the other. He sees Mike’s nose twitch when he takes the fluid out of its container. Wondering at his own audacity, he puts his finger to Mike’s lips. The lips part, the tip of Mike’s tongue sweeps out to curl around Armin’s fingertip and pull it into his mouth where he sucks the remaining honey off it. Armin gasps a little at the sensation of that warm mouth closed around his finger, imagining it closed around something a little bigger and further down his body.

 

“I’m ready,” he says with a little hitch in his voice. “F-find where I put it.”

 

Mike sits up a little and leans over him, his face close to Armin’s skin, and inhales slowly through his nose. 

 

“You’re going to have to try harder than this,” he teases. He lowers his head and licks the honey very slowly and thoroughly from first one and then the other of Armin’s small pink nipples, suckling softly and then nipping carefully when the little buds harden and tighten under his ministrations.

 

“Ohh,” breathes Armin, arching up into the gentle pinch of Mike’s teeth. “Mike please. Harder?”

 

“Harder, is it?” rumbles Mike softly, lips tickling one small nipple as he speaks. Armin nods, enraptured by the sight and feel of it, forgetting that Mike can’t see, but it does n’t matter, because Mike feels it, and his teeth close delicately over the small rosy button and begin to slowly bear down, a little at a time, until Armin is gasping and squirming and eventually cries out as the small pain flares behind his closed eyes, sharp and bright. Mike starts to back off, but Armin grips his hair and pulls him close.

 

“N-no, do n’t stop!”

 

Mike growls around Armin’s aching nipple and his fingertips grasp the other one, pinching hard to match the pressure of his teeth. Armin writhes and whimpers Mike’s name and his hands fist in Mike’s hair and tug urgently. Mike chuckles and lets go, his tongue giving a last soft rasp to Armin’s swollen, reddened nipple.

 

“Trying to get out of playing with me, baby boy?”

 

“No! S...sit back then.”

 

Mike laughs some more but he subsides, leaning back on one elbow and waiting patiently, head cocked. As many would be doing when robbed of their sight, he looks a little like he’s listening intently, but Armin knows better. Mike can hear just fine, but even when he can see, he still uses his nose to give him more information than any other sense. He’s following the scent trail of Armin’s honey-covered fingertip as he decides where to put it next. He knows where he wants to put it. Oh, he does. He even thinks he might  dare . The boy he is today, the boy who flew, that boy might  dare many things he would n’t have dared yesterday. But not yet. He thinks of all the places on his skin he loves for Mike to kiss and lick and nibble. So honey smears down his neck, behind his ear and down the line of the tendon along the side, down to his collarbone.

 

“Okay, ready,” he says with a little wiggle of anticipation. Mike practically pounces on him, and he squeaks helplessly when he’s pinned to the cushions and Mike attacks his throat, snarling softly against his neck as he bites at the sticky skin. He’s terribly thorough here too, and Armin’s pretty sure the honey is long gone before he lets Armin go and leaves him gasping and whining softly. Oh, Armin can’t remember being so aroused in...well, maybe not since the day Mike took his virginity. Or the day he tied Armin to the bed and went down on him with a cock ring in place for hours. Or the day he made him wear that wooden plug thing he bought from an artisan who secretly makes more than just furniture in his wood shop. Or the day he spanked Armin for the first time and told him that he wanted him. There are a lot of times with Mike when he’s more aroused than he’s ever been. 

 

Armin knows he gives away a lot of the surprise of what he’s going to do next when he unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down, because with his harness on, it can’t be done silently. Metal chimes and clinks, and leather creaks. Mike’s smile widens into a wolfish grin full of lots of teeth.

 

“Oh you  naughty  boy,” he purrs in delights. “What are you up to?”

 

“Are you going to play the  game or just sit there and talk about it?” quips Armin archly, having stroked the honey where he wants Mike’s mouth next quickly, while using his other hand to finish shoving cloth and belts out of the way. Mike tackles him and he shrieks with laughter, bucking uselessly against his mountain of a lover. Mike takes his time sniffing down Armin’s body, but he seems surprised and pleased when he finds the sweetness not where he’d expected it, but brushed along Armin’s hip and the tender skin where hip meets thigh. Mike’s mouth is tender as he licks the honey off with little flicks of his tongue, because he knows how sensitive Armin’s skin is here. Armin moans softly as the soft, loving strokes. It tickles a little, but not in a giggly way, just in a way that makes him squirm more and arch his hips up towards Mike’s mouth.

 

“Come on, lad,” murmurs Mike against his skin, “put it where you really want me. Where we both know you want my mouth the most.”

 

Armin looks at Mike when he sits back once more. Oh, he does want Mike’s mouth. Knows that if he puts the honey on his hard little cock, Mike wo n’t stop with licking it clean. He’ll lick and suck until Armin comes helplessly in his mouth and then he’ll let Armin play and lick and suck at his huge cock until he comes too. And part of Armin wants nothing more than that. Understands why Mike tends to refuse to push his cock inside his boy’s tiny body two nights in a row. He does n’t want sex with him to become something Armin fears. It hurts  sometimes anyway. When Armin is so small and Mike is proportionately so big...well, really he’s just plain huge anyway, no matter who you compare him to, probably. But Armin can’t stop thinking about this morning. And what he really wants. He looks at the pot of honey, then at his finger, then at Mike. He takes in the faint bruises on Mike’s arms and chest, knows there are more on his thighs, and that they match his own. Stronger than you think, and braver than you know, Mike had said. 

 

Armin puts the honey where he wants it.

 

When he whispers in a quavering voice that he’s ready, Mike rolls to him, leans over him, expectant. Though his eyes are covered, Armin can still  recognize the frown when Mike’s nose tells him there’s no honey on the sweet little erection bobbing gently under his face. It is, Armin imagines, rather like being knocked down by a supposedly tame bear and firmly investigated, whuffled over from head to toe by a beast that probably is n’t going to maim you...but you know it could. Mike goes suddenly quite still. Armin holds his breath, knowing he’s blushing furiously, wishing he was n’t , wishing he’d put the honey on his erection as expected, wanting nothing so much as he wants to wipe it off. Take it back.

 

“Why you little minx,” whispers Mike, his tone both shocked and admiring. Before he can draw breath to  apologize , to ask for an end to the game, he’s flipped firmly onto his belly. He cries out in shame when his upthrust, rounded cheeks are pressed apart. 

 

“Mike….please…” he whimpers, trying to turn back over. A large hand comes down on his backside once, stinging sharply. 

 

“You played, baby boy,” hisses Mike, his voice thick with a desire Armin can’t help but  recognize . “Now we’re finishing this game. Be still.”

 

He is. He’s oh, so very still, although it’s more terror at his own audacity and embarrassing wantonness. Is Mike put off by it? He’s...used his mouth there before, but maybe he does n’t really like doi...do... ohh .

 

Armin’s thought process is entirely derailed when Mike gently strokes his tongue over the tight, quivering pucker of Armin’s anus. He cries out in shock and shivers. Mike makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest.

 

“My sweet boy. And so naughty. So dirty.  I’d never have guessed you had it in you, baby boy. So you like me tonguing your cute little asshole hm?” He licks again, slowly, making Armin wriggle and groan. “So cute. So fresh and clean….” Mike pauses, and Armin’s face turns scarlet. “Why Armin Arlert! I thought this was clover honey. Is that  honeysuckle  I taste under the honey?”

 

“Y...yes sir,” whispers Armin, hiding his face in his hands.

 

“Armin,”  breathes Mike, and bends his head back down, tickling and teasing with his clever tongue, pushing gently until he penetrates Armin’s tight little hole, licking and kissing and making Armin roll his hips and gasp and whine softly. His cock throbs between his legs, and he knows he’s making something of a mess on the cushion he’s laid over, but he can’t help it. By the time Mike stops, he’s dead certain there’s not even a hint of honey left and he’s reduced nearly to the point of frantic pleading, but he tries to clear his head because he hopes...oh, he really hopes...that he’s going to be able to convince Mike to stop being quite so careful with him ALL the time.

 

Mike flips him  back over and Armin sees he’s removed the blindfold, leaving his shaggy hair mussed and charming. His silver-blue eyes are hot and sparkling, but he looks solemn too.

 

“You used the cleansing kit did n’t you?” he asks curiously. Armin wonders if his face could get any redder, but he nods. “Why?”

 

“Because I thought...I  hoped... that you’d….that we could…Well. I...I want you,” he confesses, hesitant and stammering a little, but urgently sincere.

 

“Ah, baby boy, I want you too. Right now, even more than usual. And I’ll see you’re well satisfied, I promise you. But Armin, I’d feel a right bastard if I hurt you...that way. My size is an issue for you, and if I do n’t let you recover a little, I’m afraid it’d be just unpleasant for you. And believe me, I want you to keep wanting to have sex with me.”

 

Armin grabs Mike’s hands where they slide up his thighs to his hips and up to his waist, to gather him close, and he squeezes as hard as he can.

 

“No,” he cries. “Mike please. Please listen. I know you know more than me about these things. I do. But please listen?”

 

“I’m always going to try to listen to you, love. All right then. Tell me. Why is this important to you, because I can tell that it is, and it had better NOT be because you’re worried about not satisfying me, little boy, or you are going to be in for one hell of a spanking.”

 

Armin moans softly because it makes him feel all shivery when Mike says things like that, but he tamps down on his lustful feelings and looks up at Mike earnestly.

 

“You’re so careful with me,” he says softly, letting go of one of Mike’s wrists to touch his beloved face with gentle fingertips. “So gentle, so patient and kind. And no...you never make me worry that I’m not satisfying you. I think...well, if you were a different person I might worry about that but...but I can tell that you like it that I’m small. Mike...I can even tell that...that you like it that it hurts me a little  sometimes .”

 

“Armin, I…”

 

Armin lunges at Mike and covers his mouth with his fingertips, hating that they’re trembling a little, but unable to help it.

 

“No! No it’s...it’s okay. I like it too. It was intimidating at first. But even then, I still wanted you so badly...I’d tell myself it was worth a little pain to get to be with you, and that I’d be able to handle it. But then...the more times we’re together, and the more comfortable with you I become...Mike, I’ve  realized it’s not at all that I can handle it in order to be able to be intimate with you. It’s...it’s PART of it for me. Part of what makes me feel like I’ll go mad if I do n’t have you inside me. The...the way it aches. The way you’re so big inside me that it feels like I can’t take it.  I was only so scared and nervous at first because I did n’t know ANYthing about how sex actually works between two men, and I could n’t figure out what you’d want with an inexperienced, silly little goose like me.”

 

“You’re not a goose. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out, and it’s my job to care for you, keep you safe, lad,” says Mike sincerely.

 

“I know, because that’s what we both want. And...and part of that, the taking care...is the...the sp-spankings and...and pretending to punish me when I’m naughty. And that Erwin allows it to be you who administers real punishments if I earn them...and I need to remember to thank him for that. He does n’t give any other lovers that privilege, and I understand it’s a very big deal. That it’s you makes it easier...both for me not to feel horrid about myself afterwards, and for me to learn the lesson that’s being taught by it. But that’s not important right now. What I mean, this time, is that what I’m trying to explain is tied in to the other dirty things we do. I’m not...I’ve  realized lately that it is n’t JUST that it makes me feel cared-for and safe when you...when you warm my backside for me. It is n’t JUST that it helps me let out negative feelings. Okay?”

 

“What else is it then, lad? Because I know those other things are still true…” says Mike.

 

“Oh yes,” Armin nods sincerely. “Oh, very much so. But I…I guess I’ve  realized that I’m more like Eren than I thought. I also just...it sort of turns me on because I guess I like a little bit of pain, too.”

 

“Aye,” agrees Mike. “and I hope ye wo n’t be ashamed for it. A lot of people do. It does n’t have to be getting whipped or paddled or spanked. I like having my hair pulled, and being bitten by your cute little tiny white teeth. I’ve always liked those things. A lot of people do. Even people who are n’t also into the other things.”

 

“I...I...I touched myself after I...after I used the kit,” Armin bursts out suddenly, not knowing how to explain what he’s trying to explain and getting frustrated. Mike levers himself up on his elbows and looks down at him with his eyebrows raised.

 

“Did you now? And why would that be?”

 

“Please do n’t be mad,” implores Armin.

 

“Mad? Do n’t be daft. I love that you’ve a strong enough desire in you that you continue to want to do that, and I like to think it’s thoughts of me that make ye want to. I’ve never made any rule about not touching yourself, except now and then for a short time when I wanted to tease you, and you’ve always obeyed me. But will you tell me why you did?”

 

“I put my finger back there after I um...took out the nozzle. Just...because, I guess. I mean, when I did it at first there was n’t really a reason. And it was slippery still from the oil so I put...p-put my finger inside. Curious, I suppose?”

 

“Go on.”

 

“I’d never done that before. It was interesting. And my finger’s not very big, but I started to think about what if it was YOUR finger. And how my...how I was still sore inside. And...and thinking about you pushing your finger in and saying ouch...but having you keep doing it anyway….well, it made me hard. So...so...so I imagined telling you that it hurt, and you...you chuckled and did it harder. And I whimpered and struggled so you had to hold me down. Oh.Oh and...and when I knew,  realized you were going to...to fuck me, in my h-hole where I was still sore...then I begged you not to. And you-you….you said I was yours, and you were having me. And...and you did. And it did hurt, and I cried, and you fucked me anyway. While I cried. And you knew how to make my body respond to you, how to...to angle your cock so it hit me just right...and how to stroke me so I stayed aroused...and you made me beg you to let me come, while I yelled and cried and sobbed and oh...Mike, I came so hard. Just thinking about it.” He twists and squirms as he’s talking and reaches the jacket he’s brought along like Mike said to, and he reaches in the pocket and pulls out their little glass bottle of honeysuckle oil. Unable to look at Mike after what he’s confessed, he thrusts the bottle blindly at him, then Armin buries his face in his hands when he finishes speaking all in a rush, tears prickling at his eyes, hoping desperately he can keep them from spilling over, and shaking with fear that Mike wo n’t understand.

 

Mike picks him up bodily and puts him in his lap, straddling him, and Armin can feel that Mike is still hard through his pants. He throws his arms around Mike’s neck and hides his face against his lover’s broad, muscled chest.

 

“You’re so young still,” muses Mike, and Armin tenses, ready to try once more to argue his point before giving up entirely, but Mike goes on. “But you’re a man. You’ve proved it over and over, saved the lives of so many. A lot of the  Survey  Corps would n’t be here today if it were n’t for you, Armin. You’re wise and brilliant and brave. If I can trust your tactical decisions and battlefield smarts, I think I’d be a damn fool not to trust you to know your own mind when it comes to your sexual desires, now that you’ve enough experience to figure out what they are. Because you had n’t , at first. And oh, my sweet baby boy, you’ve no idea how it inflames me to hear this fantasy of yours, for it’s one of mine as well. I wo n’t argue with you. That would be insulting. But you’re going to have to deal with the fact that I need to make sure you understand what you’re asking for...and that I do.”

 

“Really?” asks Armin breathlessly, raising his head and looking into Mike’s eyes with his earnest blue ones.

 

“Oh, most definitely. To take you while you squeal and struggle? Ngh. There’s not enough yes in the world to agree that’s something I’d like. But lad...it will hurt you. You’re sore. I was gentle last night, and I’ll tell you right now I’m probably never going to agree to rough sex with you twice in a row. I refuse to harm you, lad, and that could easily do so. I’ll have no argument there.”

 

“Yes sir,” whispers Armin, squirming.

 

“I’ll trust you to remember your safeword, and I’ll agree to sex with you where I’ll ignore everything but that. You want to be able to beg for mercy? To not have me keep stopping and ask if you’re okay if you cry? To take your tight, sore little arse even if you scream or sob or plead with me to stop?”

 

“Mike,” gasps Armin, rocking against him and biting his lip. “Oh. Yes.”

 

“Then I’ll say not just yes, but oh fucking hell yes, baby boy. But,” says Mike, his voice going whiplash sharp like it does when he means what he says and that it’s important and that disobedience would be very bad for Armin’s bottom. “But if I ever find out you needed to use your safeword and you DID N’T ...you will be punished so severely that you’ll cry when I merely touch your poor punished backside with a fingernail, and I wo n’t fuck you again for a month. I mean it Armin, your word that you’ll use it if you need to, or this discussion ends now.”

 

“I promise,” gasps Armin. “Oh I do, I promise. I do n’t want you to...to damage me either. And it’s….it is n’t as if this is something I feel I’ll want all the time. Just now and then, when I’m feeling….”

 

“Have you been a naughty boy, Armin?” growls Mike suddenly, understanding what Armin needs, and immediately Armin  realizes that this is it, that they’ve started. Mike takes him at his word and there’s no need to worry it to death like a dog with a bone. His breath catches in his throat and for a second panic rises up to choke him, and he wonders what he’s thinking, why he’s said such insane things to Mike...to a man Mike’s size...but Mike is looking at him very sternly and the thick ridge of his erection rubs between Armin’s legs and he’s not capable of ignoring Mike’s question.

 

“Yes Mike,” he whispers, hanging his head.

 

“What have you done, little boy?”

 

“Do I have to tell you?” whispers Armin hopefully, wriggling a little. Mike frowns.

 

“Yes you have to.”

 

“I...I touched myself, Mike. Without asking first. I’m sorry.”

 

“Did you come?”

 

“Yes,” breathes Armin, beginning to be frightened now. Oh, Mike does n’t like it when he touches his naughty parts without asking first. That’s only for Mike to do, and little boys do n’t get to choose when they feel pleasure. Mike heaves a great sigh and shakes his head sorrowfully.

 

“What happens to little boys who come without permission?”

 

“They get...punished?” guesses Armin nervously. 

 

“That wo n’t do, Armin. What happens? Or do you need me to blister your little bum for you too?”

 

“N-no!” Armin shakes his head wildly. He wonders if it’s horribly weird that he’s starting to feel a strange compulsion to call Mike “Daddy” as this exhilarating new interaction unfolds. He’s sinking, being absorbed into it, into this dirty, bad little boy with his VERY dirty, bad….whatever Mike is being right now...who does dirty things to him and he’s light-headed with it. “No Mike. I’m sorry.” He feels his face flaming. 

 

“Tell me what happens, Armin,” he orders sternly. Armin lets out a soft whine. Can he do this? Is that what he meant to happen? Is there something wrong with him? But Mike has told him that there are n’t words like wrong or shame in loving someone, or pleasing them, as long as what you’re doing is n’t harming anyone or upsetting them or messing them up in their heads. He pauses and thinks about it. He’s never been sexually abused. Finds the actual concept of rape as abhorrent as he knows Mike does. When he thinks of Mike this way, doing this to him, he knows he’s not turning it into some abusive thing, it’s just...naughty.

 

“They...they get...they get fucked.”

 

Mike’s fingers glide down his hips and around the curve of his bottom, sliding between his cheeks and softly brushing his little hole. He gasps.

 

“How, baby boy. .How do naughty boys get fucked?”

 

“Hard,” whispers Armin in a small voice. “Very hard, and it hurts, and they cry  sometimes .”

 

“Turn around and lay your head on that pillow and keep your backside raised up high for me, with your legs spread wide,” says Mike gruffly, lifting Armin off his lap and helping turn him around. Armin obeys, wrapping his arms around the pillow and arching his back to perch his bottom up high in the air. 

 

Thick fingers stroke and press against his tiny hole, and then one sinks deep. He bites his lip and whines softly, squirming a little. Not struggling, oh no. The ache deep inside from their loving last night echoes when Mike pushes his finger in, but it feels so good Armin has a hard time maintaining the facade of being the frightened boy he’s supposed to be right now. The second finger helps, because when Mike slides it in slowly next to the first finger, and the tissues inside Armin’s body rearrange to allow the intrusion, he feels it in the stretch, and he gasps.

 

“What’s the matter?” asks Mike in a silky voice that makes Armin’s tummy feel shivery.

 

“It...it hurts a little,” he says softly.

 

“Does it?” says Mike interestedly, and then he scissors his fingers apart and Armin cries out and then whimpers. “It’s supposed to hurt.” Armin moans in a ragged little voice. 

 

Mike still takes his time preparing Armin for his cock. It’s going to hurt a little all on its own, and Armin appreciates it very much that Mike does n’t actually have any desire to rip him open. The tenderness of his body from having been stretched to accommodate Mike the night before is more than enough to provide what Armin wants to experience. He’s not sure he CAN do it without using his safeword, and has every intention of keeping his promise to use it if he needs to. He knows very well that some things sound a lot better in fantasy than they feel in reality. It may be too much. Three fingers working and stretching him are more than enough to make him wonder this. He’s panting and whining by the time Mike carefully withdraws his fingers from Armin’s backside, leaving his hole grasping at emptiness and feeling very vulnerable and raw and tender.

 

“Oh please,” he whimpers, and after the time Mike’s taken, and how carefully and almost cruelly and deliberately   he has fingered his boy open, Armin is utterly lost in the fantasy Mike’s making real for him. “Please do n’t !”

 

Mike’s hands on his hips steady him and entrap him. He trembles, desire and need at war with trepidation, when he feels the fat, blunt head of Mike’s great big scary cock press firmly against his sore hole.

 

“Please!” he cries, when Mike slowly begins to push, exerting steady pressure on his entrance, which opens slowly but inevitably. It burns and stings, and Armin whimpers out a litany of pleas. “Please, please, please Mike! Please stop,” he wails as he’s slowly breached, his used flesh yielding because it has no choice.

 

“No,” says Mike, and his hips give a short, firm shove which plants his thick cock deeply up his little lover’s ass. Armin howls in pain as his aching hole is forced wide. Oh it’s monstrous. He’s so stupid. There’s just no way he can take it. His asshole is  throbbing around the monstrous violation. He wails again in pain when Mike withdraws slowly and then rolls his hips, pressing back inside Armin’s sore little hole. When he can draw breath, he opens his mouth, preparing to say the word that will put a stop to it, ashamed that he’s asked this of Mike and now, so soon, he’s got to back out. But he’d promised, and so he canno….can-nuh...uhh...ohhh. Mike grips his naughty boy’s hips firmly and cants them forward, spreading Armin open even wider and forcing his cock down deeper inside the fantastically tight embrace. He angles his thrust just so, knowing exactly where to find that tiny  center of brain-melting bliss inside Armin’s tiny body. Armin’s sharp cries of pain slide into a throbbing groan of pleasure. At the end of that long, slow glide, Mike jams his cock hard the rest of the way into the little body he holds helpless, and Armin’s moan turns into a strangled yowl. Skillfully, Mike turns every thrust into something like the sexual equivalent of riding the sky in a set of gear. Dizzying peaks of soaring ecstasy mingled with eye-watering pain, all combined with a bone deep ache caused by the constant bruises they all carry. With every plunge and withdrawal of his massive erection, he drags it over Armin’s prostate, but the beginning and end of every one stretches and rubs and violates aching, swollen flesh. Armin squirms like a fish on a pike, skewered and pinned helplessly. His eyes are screwed shut with the pain of taking Mike’s cock a second day in a row, but his mouth is slack with pleasure. All thought of using his safeword vanishes and he just lets go. Lets himself be overwhelmed. Surrenders to feelings and sensations he’s never dreamed until he met this man, who wrecks and destroys him utterly, who is going to turn him into a babbling, blubbering, sobbing mess of a person in a few minutes, and yet who also makes him feel as cherished and sheltered as a tiny bird’s egg. 

 

“Owww,” he shouts, voice cracking with the strain of being forced so wide. “Pl...please Mike! Please! I can’t! St-stop, oh please stop!”

 

“This is what naughty boys get, Armin,” growls Mike. The sound of his voice sends a ripple of goosebumps across Armin’s skin, he is become more wholly a great, glorious beast of a man. He’s become something primal.

 

Armin’s thighs quiver with the strain of accepting the pain of the steady, bruising slaps of Mike’s hips against his bottom. Tears fill his eyes. Oh God, it hurts. It hurts so damn much more than he’d anticipated, and yet just like when he’d only imagined it, his cock aches between his legs, hard and red and weeping, slapping into his belly with the jarring impact of Mike’s body colliding with his own. 

 

“Hurts! Oh...oh Mike it hurts! Please, it hurts so bad. Please Mike, please do n’t . I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise. Oh please, please!”

 

“You gonna cry for me, naughty boy? Hnh?” grunts Mike, fucking into him as though he’d like to break him, wringing plaintive little cries from Armin’s parted lips. “C’mon then. Give me those pretty little tears. I aint gonna stop fucking your tight little hole. Dirty little boy. Playing with your cock. Making a mess all over my floor. Little slut is what you are. Go on then. Cry. I’ll fuck you harder.”

 

Armin’s eyes roll back into his head and his toes curl. His mouth falls open and a piteous, ragged wail is torn from his throat. Then he’s crying, breathless sobs that are  exactly  as he’d imagined they’d be. He hardly knows if his cries are due to pleasure or pain, as both are tangled together in brain and nerve and gut, his reactions visceral and utterly wanton. The pain is nearly incandescent, yet he’s so hard it actually hurts and he nearly screams through his helpless sobs every time Mike ruthlessly drags his cock over Armin’s sweet spot because he feels that his small body simply cannot contain the sensory bombardment anymore. Mike does what he’s promised, paying no heed to any pleas or frantic crying, and fucks Armin even harder, lowering his head and pounding into him. He is as gorgeous and ruthless and unrelenting as Armin has always known he can be even though he is also kind and gentle and patient most of the time. 

 

“Mike!” he cries through his  agonized sobs, knowing he sounds frantic but unable to bring himself to care. It’s unspeakably beautiful to him that despite his inability to voice what’s happening to him right now, his lover understands. Mike’s hands shift and slowly cover Armin’s where they dig convulsively into the cushion he’s clutching. His fingers curl around Armin’s small ones, and Armin can hear Mike’s voice in his head, murmuring softly to him that he’s got him, and he’s perfect and beautiful and brave and that Mike will always take care of him, even when he’s also wrecking Armin at the same time. He grips those powerful hands like a lifeline and then his tears no longer contain anything at all of sorrow or pain. It still hurts. He still feels as though he’s being cored open and hollowed out by something too big for his body to contain it, but the sensation is exactly right now. The pain sharpens and enhances the pleasure, like spice to a fine meal. He raises his hips and moans, his whole body tightening, clamping down on Mike’s cock as though he’d hold him inside himself forever if he could. Mike gasps a little and then lets out another of those soft growls that curl Armin’s toes.

 

“God,” whispers his lover fervently, “you’re perfect for me, baby boy. Can you come for me like this? Come on my cock? Nnh. Armin. My naughty boy. My  good boy. Come on, lad.” He leans closer so that his lips brush Armin’s ear. “Armin. Oh.  Ohh . Come for me.”

 

Armin shrieks, gripping Mike’s hands like he will meld their flesh into one, his body tightening like a bow, tight and trembling and expectant.

 

“Mike,” he cries, desperate. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease…”

 

Mike takes Armin’s ear in his teeth and bites down. He snarls between his teeth.

 

“ Come. ” 

 

And Armin flies apart, screaming Mike’s name, sobbing and laughing, a little unhinged. His release burns through his blood like flash fire, shaking him to the very core of his being. His sore, aching little hole clamps down hard, quivering, and Mike slams inside him hard, pressed against Armin’s body as tightly as he can, shuddering and gasping while his cock pulses inside his tiny lover’s warm body.

 

“Are you all right, lad?” murmurs Mike tenderly a minute later, gently wrapping his arms around Armin and rolling them onto their sides, tucking his boy snugly against his body. Armin twists and squirms until he can bury his face against Mike’s chest, and proceeds to fall a little bit apart, crying and shaking so hard he gives himself the hiccups. Mike makes an alarmed sound and strokes Armin’s hair and what parts of his damp, sweaty face he can reach. “Here now! Armin, do n’t cry. Are you hurt? Did I hurt you too much? Come on, baby boy, talk to me. Shh. I’m so sorry. We’re never doing that again….”

 

“NO!” shouts Armin, albeit a little wetly. His vehemence might or might not be slightly undermined by the fact that he hiccups right afterwards and his voice is adorably raspy and his nose is running. Mike gropes until he finds the napkin he’d used to blindfold himself and wipes off Armin’s face gently, a look of terrible concern on his face. “No,” says Armin again, a little more clearly, pushing pointlessly at Mike’s hands, trying and failing to avoid being tended. “Do n’t say that.”

 

“You’re crying,” says Mike worriedly. Armin gives up trying to push his hands away and bites him instead. Mike utters a shocked, offended noise and stops, glaring a little.

 

“Of course I’m crying. That was...it was the most intense thing we’ve ever done. I cry after I’ve...um…” Armin blushes and stammers a little. Mike relaxes a little and his mouth twitches.

 

“After you’ve come really hard. Aye, you do then. That’s what this is?”

 

“Kind of. I mean, it’s like that...I mean, that’s part of it. Partly it was all just really intense. And it did hurt. But not like you think, not in a bad way. I ache. You’re probably not getting laid again for a few days. Not that you’re not getting all the other kinds of sex you want because that was amazing and you did n’t ….did n’t just halfway do it. You gave me what I asked for, trusted me to know my own mind, and you do n’t know….Mike, you can’t. People have been placating me since I was a little boy, Patting me on the head and telling me someday when I’m bigger. Not taking me seriously because I’m little and cute. Protecting me from danger because they decide for me that I can’t handle it. You do n’t do those things. You...you value my mind but you do n’t ever act like my body’s too fragile to be good for anything. I’m okay. A little overwhelmed by how it made me feel, but it was exactly what I wanted. Thank you. And I do want to do it again. Just...maybe not for a while.”

 

“Oh well. There goes my plan for tomorrow night,” sighs Mike regretfully, and chuckles when Armin smacks him on the shoulder. “Here now. I do see. And I’m glad it was what you wanted...and that you still want to do it again. I liked it too, even if it makes me a bit of a bastard, to have enjoyed making you scream for me that way.”

 

“You’re not!”

 

Mike chuckles.

 

“We’ll see if you still think so later tonight when we have a little conversation about that bite, little brat.”

 

Armin cocks his head to the side, thinking about this.

  
And bites him again.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear opinions on how I'm handling this pair and their adventures together as lovers. If you have thoughts and it's not a bother, I'd be pleased if you'd share them


	7. The Little Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually began life as a roleplay between me and my friend cdreation, but to my very great surprise and immense sense of flattery, she studied this work in preparation and what happened instead was a perfect chapter in the lives of Mike and Armin. Both of them have a couple of very bad days, and Mike's too mad at the jerks in the government to give Armin the stress relief he needs. By the time he's back in a good place in his head, poor Armin is quite miserable. Mike's idea to help him deal with it is something Armin's never done before, and would never dream of doing. But...it works!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a consensual roleplay between adults. The age of the character Armin is playing is probably under the age of consent, so technically I want to warn readers that it contains what is depicted as a nonconsensual spanking of a boy of indeterminate age, in case that's triggering for you. Sexy times do not happen until after the roleplay is finished. In fact, by the time the spanking gets intense the little boy is pretty much long gone and it's Mike giving Armin exactly what he wants and needs. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my dear friend Cdreation. My love, I hope you get what you need very soon as well and that your Mike can be with you soon! (Well, technically your Erwin, since I know you usually identify more with Levi, but you did such a fantastic job with sweet baby Armin that....well, it was a theme!) You're the best!

Armin sits at the small kitchen table in the cottage he shares with his lover Mike, with his head buried in his arms, fighting back the tears that have been threatening to overwhelm him all day.  It’s the third time in a week that he’s been verbally attacked by the new group of soldiers that have joined the ranks of the Survey Corp, and Armin can’t seem to shake the feelings of uselessness their words invoked.

 

‘Poor little kid.  Bet you cry yourself to sleep every night you’re so scared.’

 

‘What are we supposed to do with a kid like this on the field?  He’s more likely to just get in the way then do anything useful.’

 

He takes a deep breath and tries to forcefully push the words from his mind.  Eren and Mikasa had been with him when they’d said he was useless in the field, and both of them had stood in front of him and yelled at the new cadets for a good ten minutes.  Armin is grateful for their support, but at the same time he hates himself for having to rely on them.

 

It isn’t that he believes what they said.  Not only Eren and Mikasa, but Erwin, and surprisingly Levi, have all told him how valuable he is to the Survey Corp and that he has saved more lives than they can count.  And Mike has told him the same thing...and more.  Told him how beautiful and brilliant he is, how he’s stronger than he even knows, and usually all he has to do is remember those words and it drives the negative emotions away.

 

But this time is far from usual.  Mike has been in near constant meetings for the last few days so Armin has barely seen him.  And when he does see him, Mike looks so haggard and upset Armin doesn’t want to make a bad day worse by making Mike worry about him.

 

So Armin has been keeping his feelings and insecurities locked away, and he had been able to ignore them.  But today is different.  The words stung more than usual.  They’d caught him on his way back to the cottage, when neither Eren nor Mikasa was around.  He’d walked away from them, ignoring the calls and jeers, but he was able to hear them until he’d stepped through the cabin door.

 

As his insecurities swirl through his mind and thoughts of failing his fellow soldiers on the battlefield taunt him, Armin realizes what he needs, what he’s missing.  He stands and heads into the kitchen to prepare dinner, hoping Mike is in a better mood tonight.

 

****

 

When he pushes open the door and the smells of home and a hot supper simmering on the big iron cookstove wash over him, Mike sighs and a little of the tension he’s been carrying around the last two days drains away, but not nearly enough. 

 

He and Erwin, along with Levi and Hanji, have been closested in Erwin’s office for most of the last two days trying to turn a week’s worth of supplies into a month. Pay sufficient for two thirds of their forces into enough for all. A way to take the brand new budget cuts they’ve just been handed by yet another pompous, officious little shit from Sina and keep the Survey Corps above water. He’s so sick of the bullshit. They all know damned good and well that they’re being backed into a corner on purpose. It makes him sick. The Survey Corps are the only division of the armed forces that have any chance at all of making any difference against the titans, and yet they’re being cut off at the knees at every turn.

 

He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on its peg by the door. Armin is stirring a pot of something that smells like his favorite stew, and turns to greet him, stepping into his arms when he crosses to the stove and opens them, fitting against Mike’s body as though he’s always been there. Mike senses tension in the boy’s slim body. There’s something off about his scent too. He can’t put his finger on what it is precisely, though he can probably guess. It happens every time they get an influx of new recruits, and there’s been one early this week. It always takes time for the new ones to understand Armin’s true value to the corps, and the poor lad has to bear a certain amount of ridicule from the larger, burlier fresh meat every damned time. Armin doesn’t complain, but it hurts him. He leans against Mike, sighing, seeking comfort. Mike grits his teeth a little on his anger at the government and hopes his boy doesn’t need more than he’s able to offer tonight. As mad as he is, he fears to do more than touch, lest some of that rage slip out and turn accidentally against the one person he’d never hurt for anything in all the world.

 

Well. The one person he’d never  harm.

 

“How was your day then, lad?” he asks, pressing his lips against Armin’s bright, cornsilk hair.

 

“It was alright, Sir.”  he murmurs in response, voice muffled by Mike’s shirt, and he hopes the desperation and pain in it doesn’t show.

 

Armin could tell the moment he saw Mike’s face that whatever had happened in his meeting hadn’t been good, and knows that if he asks for a spanking now, Mike will most assuredly say no.  And Armin doesn’t think he can handle hearing it.  Not today.  So he tilts his head up and goes up on tip toe, pulling Mike’s head down and pressing his soft lips against Mike’s.  He can feel the unease and anxiety in the back of his mind threatening to overwhelm him, but he knows that Mike will never do anything...like that...when he’s upset.  It’s one of the few rules Mike refuses to break, and Armin doesn’t want to push him.

 

He deepens the kiss for a moment, aching with the need to be touched, but pulls away when he hears the stew begin to boil over.

 

“Ah!  Sorry.  Dinner’s almost ready, but you probably have time for a quick shower before we eat.”  

 

He doesn’t ask about Mike’s day hoping to draw his lovers mind away from whatever’s troubling him so he can help him relax.  Even though he knows he’s not going to get what he wants, what he needs, he still doesn’t like seeing Mike so upset.  Mike releases his hold on the small boy, and Armin turns back to attend to their food.

 

Mike tries to derail his brain from the endless jumble of frustrated, baffled anger that has him tied up in knots, but it’s no use. He feels so helpless, knowing those bastards behind that final wall are setting them up for a fall for some reason none of them understand, and it’s making him crazy, because he has no way to fight something he doesn’t understand. He can set it aside enough so that he knows he won’t take it out on Armin, because none of it is the boy’s fault. Armin, in fact, has been instrumental more than once in helping them figure out how to get around some of the many shortages they constantly have to face. But when the boy is setting things out on their tiny table with its clean canvas tablecloth, Mike sees his hand and his gaze linger on a certain wooden spoon and his heart sinks a little. It’s as obvious as the nose on his face that Armin’s troubled enough that he wants Mike to help him release some of his pent up emotions and frustrations in the way only Mike can do. And it’s just as obvious to Mike that there’s no way he can allow himself to do such a thing. He’s vowed to Armin that he’ll never raise a hand to him when his head isn’t clear, when he’s not absolutely sure he can promise there isn’t anything interfering with his ability to remain completely in control of his own feelings. He simply will not risk damaging Armin’s trust in him because he allows his control to slip and lets out some of his anger in even one slap that strikes his lover’s tender skin with too much force. Not that Armin can’t handle a little pain. Requires it from time to time, in fact, but that Mike has sworn never to strike him in anger.

 

As they’re eating, Mike tells Armin a little about how badly their meetings have been going. Armin is always a good listener.

 

“I’m sorry, lad,” he sighs as they’re cleaning up the supper dishes. “I can tell you haven’t had the best day yourself. I’d like nothing more than to...make us both forget about it. But I’m so damned  angry at those smug pricks up in that palace that...well, I just can’t trust myself. You deserve better, an’ I’m sorry for it. I’ll make it up to you, soon as I’m able.”

 

Armin runs his arms around Mike’s back and buries his face in the warmth of his chest.

 

“Please don’t apologize Mike.  I understand, really.  I know you don’t want to do anything like that tonight, and it’s alright.  I’m fine, I promise.”  He pulls back and smiles warmly.  “But will you at least let me try and help you...relax?”  Watching carefully incase Mike decides it’s too much, Armin grabs his lover’s hand and pulls him over to the bed.

 

He feels a slight twinge of guilt for the half-lie, but tells himself firmly that he really  is fine, that just having Mike touch him, having Mike’s mouth on him, will be enough.

 

As he lays back, willing to let himself be convinced, and Armin’s busy fingers go to work, unbuttoning his shirt and opening his flies, Mike closes his eyes and sighs with pleasure at the way Armin’s gentle touch soothes him. He knows this isn’t  exactly what either of them want, but he’ll give his unselfish little lover all his attention and every bit of pleasure he knows so well how to give, and it won’t be long before he’s able to give everything he knows Armin longs to ask for. Possibly a little...just a very little bit...more. 

 

***

 

“Where are we going Eren?  Corporal Levi told us to get the mess hall completely clean, and you might not be afraid of his anger, but I certainly am.”

 

Armin follows his friend along the back paths that lead towards the stables, wishing Eren would at least tell him why it’s so urgent for him to follow him immediately.  The new cadets had cornered him again before training that morning, and subjected him to another round of barbs aimed at his height and build.  Comments he is fairly certain they wouldn’t dare utter around the even smaller Corporal.  So he had honestly been relieved when Levi had ordered Eren and himself to clean the mess hall.  He was looking forward to the monotony of cleaning to help him forget about the bullying.  And about what happened with Mike last night.  He has been trying to convince himself all day that he’s fine, that just being with Mike had been enough.  But he knows it’s a lie, and he can’t help feeling unfulfilled, which just makes him feel guilty at thinking such a thing about someone who is as kind and generous to him as his lover is.  He chastises himself for being so selfish when Mike has to worry about the entire Corps, and runs a little to catch up with Eren, who has pulled ahead a bit while Armin’s been thinking.

 

“Come on Eren, where are we going?”

 

Eren knows Armin’s having a hard time. He always gets at least a little grief from new recruits; people who only see how short and slight he is, how soft-spoken, and assume that means he’s weak or useless. Plenty of people put them in their place about it, and as soon as new recruits are on the receiving end of the benefits of one of Armin’s terrific plans, the ribbing stops, but it makes him angry to see his friend get picked on. He and Mikasa don’t tolerate it when they’re around, but they can’t be with Armin around the clock. Today though, he’s discovered something he hopes will take Armin’s eyes off his troubles!

 

He drags Armin behind the stable and crouches down beside an old wooden barrel. It’s been there so long that the slats lying against the ground have softened with the past few years of damp and changing seasons so much that they’ve given way and it’s really more like  half  a barrel. He doesn’t know why nobody’s ever moved it, but it’s there. Excited by his discovery, he doesn’t notice that they’ve been seen from inside the stable, and is oblivious to the face that peers out one of the open half-doors on the back side of the big barn as he pulls Armin down to crouch beside the barrel with him.

 

“Look!” he whispers, gently pulling back the old towel he’s placed over the opening of the barrel to afford its occupants a little privacy. Yellow eyes stare back at their own curious gazes, and Eren can’t help giggling softly with delight at the tiny mewls of the six tiny kittens in the barrel, nuzzling against the flank of the sleek, complacent mama cat who makes her home in and around the stable. The Survey Corps’ barn cats are fat and happy. Nothing competes with them for the rats and mice that will always try to get into the bedding and grain supplies of any stable, and they’ve all been informally adopted by the entire Corps to boot. Someone almost always makes sure there’s a saucer of milk left out for the cats at least 4 or 5 times a week. Due to good treatment, though she’s not exactly a tame house pet, the grey tabby mother cat isn’t alarmed in the slightest by their presence, and even tolerates Eren’s hand when he reaches in and strokes a careful fingertip over the tiny fuzzy skull of a blindly fumbling little kitten.

 

“Aren’t they cute?” he asks, elbowing Armin gently and grinning in delight.

 

Armin smiles at Eren, although he doesn’t really feel it, and reaches a hand into the barrel, enjoying the feel of the soft fur on his skin.  They really are cute, and he knows Eren is just trying to make him feel better, but even the sight of the little balls of puff, which would normally make him feel happy, don’t alleviate his frustration at all.

 

“They’re so tiny,”  he comments.  The words from earlier come back to him and slip past his lips before he can stop them.  “Small and useless.  Just like me.”

 

“Arm,” says Eren earnestly, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder, “Don’t listen to those jerks! They don’t know anything. They’re  assholes ! You’re really important to everybody here. If it wasn’t for you, most of the people here wouldn’t….well, wouldn’t BE here! You’re not useless!”

 

“Don’t do that!!”  Armin practically screams at Eren, smacking his arm aside with enough force that he can feel the sting reverberate through his hand, and stands, fists clenched at his side.  “I’m not a child!  I don’t need to be coddled or protected!  I can take care of myself just fine on my own!  I don’t need your pity!  Just leave me ALONE!”

 

He breathes heavily for a moment, anger and misery coursing through his blood.  Eren pulls his hand back and looks up at Armin, the pain evident in his eyes.  Realizing what he’s said, how he’s hurt his friend who was only trying to help him, the anger disappears instantly.  He drops to his knees and throws his arms around Eren’s neck, tears springing to his eyes.

 

“Oh Eren...Eren I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  Everything has just been so...so bad the last few days.  I know I shouldn’t listen to those jerks, but it’s just so  hard when everyone always thinks I’m weak and useless because of my size.  I mean, no one would ever dare think that about Corporal Levi, and I just...I’m so so sorry for yelling at you Eren.  I didn’t mean it, and I know you’re not nice to me out of pity, and…”

 

“Armin!” Eren stops him with a laugh, but his eyes are sad. “It’s okay. I’m just...I’m so sorry you have to deal with this shit. You’re right...people  don’t say that kind of stuff about Heichou, and it’s  not fair to judge you because of your size. You’re smarter than all of them, Armin! You’re way smarter than me! Hell, all I can do is turn into a monster and fight them on their own turf...but you’ve helped so many people. And not  just  with your brain!  You were the one who went back for Jean that time he got hurt and his horse ran away! They’re just stupid, and new. I wish it was easier, but the new ones always feel like they have to prove how tough they are, y’know? They’re assholes to a lot of people, honestly. They’re really pretty snotty to Krista. She’s not just little, she’s sweet and cute and a girl. Ymir kicks people’s asses, so they stop pretty quick...but Arm...it isn’t cause she earns their respect, it’s cause her girlfriend’s terrifying, and then eventually they just can’t help but like her because she’s so nice. But Mike...he respects you too much to fight your battles for you. Maybe...maybe you could think about it that way? Because maybe you do have to put up with it longer than she does, but they stop picking on  you because you earn their respect on your own.”

 

“That’s not true.  You and Mikasa are ten times scary than Ymir, so they only stop attacking me once they realize how powerful you guys are.  I know that my ideas and strategies are good.  If they weren’t, Commander Smith wouldn’t use them so often, or probably even take the time to listen to them at all.  But I’m not strong like everyone else.  When we’re in the field the best I can do is give an opinion and hide behind people.”  The sorrow in Armin’s voice is evident, and Eren can feel a small wet patch on his shoulder where Armin’s head is resting.  He opens his mouth to refute everything Armin’s saying, but Armin continues before he can get a word out.  “I’m sorry.  I know I shouldn’t feel like this, and I’ve tried to tell myself what they said isn’t true, but…”  His voice grows quieter and his small frame begins to shake a little as he cries softly.  “The hurt won’t go away no matter what I do.”

 

Eren rubs his friend’s back reassuringly, but he feels helpless to make Armin feel better. He wishes Mike was here. He’s a lot better at helping Armin work things out when he feels bad than Eren is, even though he still thinks he’s right about Armin earning people’s respect. As though summoned by Eren’s desperate wish, he hears the crunch of a footstep on the path and looks up...and up...at Mike, who has seen Armin’s collapse from the stable and is no longer able to remain anonymous.

 

“I’ll take him, Eren...thank you,” he says softly, crouching down and picking Armin up effortlessly and taking him in his arms. Eren nods wordlessly and softly heads back towards the mess hall, wondering who he can get to help him finish cleaning it so he can get done on time. To his relief, Mikasa intercepts him on his way to ask how it went cheering Armin up with kittens, and readily agrees to help in Armin’s place so that Mike may have a better chance at making their friend feel better.

 

“Here now,” murmurs Mike into Armin’s hair, carrying him farther into the woods away from the stable and the rest of the compound so that they can’t be heard or seen. “What’s all this then?”

 

Armin is embarrassed that Mike has seen him lash out at Eren, but he’s even more embarrassed that he did it in the first place.  He briefly struggles to get out of Mike’s hold, but a warning growl quickly stills him.

 

“It’s…”  He stops himself just before he tells Mike it’s nothing, knowing full well that his large lover doesn’t take well to being lied to, and Armin doesn’t want to lie to him anyway.  But he doesn’t want to add to Mike’s problems either.  He knows Mike would never view him as a burden, but it still makes him feel bad when he causes him to worry.  Lifting his head, he looks up into Mike’s eyes, and is relieved to see none of the anger and frustration that have been dogging him the last few days.  With a sigh, he relaxes into Mike’s hold.

 

“It’s the same thing every time we get new people.  I’m small and slight so everyone thinks I’m weak and useless.  Some of the new guys have been...picking on me a little.  That’s all.”

 

“A little,” muses Mike, spying a convenient fallen tree and seating himself on the thick trunk with Armin on his lap. “A little wouldn’t make ye’ lash out at your best friend like that, or make you this miserable, lad. Give me a little credit for havin’ eyes in my head and tell me the truth. Oh, we’ve worked out the budget issues by the way, so you’re going to be wantin’ to choose your words wisely during this conversation,” he adds with a wolfish grin at the end, although his eyes are still worried.

 

Seeing the familiar smile assuages Armin’s own worry a bit, and he can’t help the little thrill that tickles him inside.  But he pushes it away for the moment, settles against Mike’s broad chest and gives him the truth he’s asked for.

 

“It hurts when people think so little of me just because I’m smaller.  And I know Eren and Mikasa only...protect me because they care about me, not because they think I can’t do it myself, but it’s still hard.  I can’t help but wish I were faster or stronger or...just better.”  He stops for a moment contemplating how to phrase what he wants to say next.  “I know that what Eren said is true, about people valuing me for my brain, and I tried to tell myself that Mike, I really did!  But it didn’t work, and I just kept getting more and more frustrated and irritated, and...and now I’ve hurt my best friend because I couldn’t let go of my own...insecurities.”  He tilts his head back and meets Mike’s gaze.  “I’m sorry, Mike.  I don’t...I can’t…I’m sorry.”  With a quick movement, Armin straddles Mike’s lap and whispers softly into his ear.  “Will...Will you...p-p-punish me, Sir?”

 

Mike hugs Armin tightly, his heart aching at the pain he hears in his lovely boy’s voice.

 

“No,” he whispers back. “And you know better than to ask. I’ll never punish you when you haven’t done anything worthy of punishment.” He leans back and looks into Armin’s eyes with a gentle smile. “But I’ll make you let it out, baby boy, the way I always will when you need it. You’ve been trying to ignore these feelings and not let them get to you for too long. I’m so sorry I was too preoccupied to help you sooner, but as hurt as you feel and as mad as I was the past two days, it would have been a pretty bad idea. Let’s go home and figure out how to handle this, okay? I’ve got the rest of the day free, and if I have my way...you’re going to need every minute of it.”

 

The thrill is back in Armin’s chest, and he hugs Mike as tightly as he can, whispered streams of ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ blurring together.  Mike lifts his boy in his arms as he stands, supporting him from below, and walks to their cottage, not giving a damn who sees them.

 

***

 

“I...I can’t!  It feels...wrong...and weird...and...and I can’t!”

 

Armin sits on the edge of the large bed he shares with Mike staring at his lover with a look of both incredulity and abject horror at Mike’s idea of what to do to make Armin feel better.

 

“Yes you can. You’re very smart, and you’re plenty good at playing a part when you set your mind to it. I’ve seen it…. little boy,” says Mike with a gleam in his eye and a wink that makes Armin blush. “But hear me out, all right? We’ve both had a shitty past couple of days. We both like roleplayin’ in the bedroom, and I’m...Lad, I don’t want to just warm your bum for ye’ and call it done. I don’t know as I can explain all my reasonin’ for it, except that it just feels to me that you need more than that. This way...what I’ve suggested...you can let out all your anger at those idiots  and  pay the price you think you need to be payin’ for it too...d’you see?” He smiles encouragingly at his reluctant little lover, hoping Armin will come around, because he’s got an idea his plan will be a lot of fun for both of them if Armin will go along with it. “You can be as horrible as you feel, an’ I’ll know you don’t really mean it, but this way I  can ...punish ye’ for it, the way you’re wanting. Without it hurting either of us. Well. Inside. It’s goin’ to hurt you on the outside rather a lot.”

 

The blush across Armin’s cheeks darkens and he stares at the floor.

 

“But...but I don’t want to be horrible to you.  Can’t I just be your n-naughty little b-b-boy like we did before?”

 

“You weren’t angry inside when we did that.  That didn’t have any...mm...source except that it was a fantasy of yours and turned out to be one of mine as well. The things those young fools said to you hurt you, Armin...but they made you angry as well, and with good reason. You’ve a right to be angry, but you need a healthy outlet for it, and you won’t let yourself scream and yell at me, or hit me...well, try to hit me...so this is much healthier than me just spankin’ you, lad. And you won’t be bein’ horrible to me. That’s why it’s called  role play. Neither one of us is our regular selves, we’re bein’ someone we’re  not.”

 

Despite Mike’s assurances, the idea still terrifies Armin.  When they’d finally gotten home, and Mike had suggested that they try a roleplay to help Armin sort out his negative emotions, Armin had never expected him to suggest... this .

 

“So h-how would it...uh...w-work?”  Armin still doesn’t think he can do it, but he’s willing to at least hear Mike out.

 

“You’re going to get to be the little prince. The most spoiled rotten little prince there’s ever been. I’m your...hm...call it whatever you like...manservant, butler, bodyguard...hired by your parents to look after you, keep you happy, and help raise you up to be a good king someday. Only...you’re not particularly interested in being a good king. Just in gettin’ your own way all the time.” He grins at the scandalized expression on Armin’s face. “Oh come on then, haven’t you ever wanted to get to boss me around even a  little ?” When the expression doesn’t change, Mike throws his head back and laughs. “All right then, imagine the faces of those stupid boys who were mean to you on my face instead and that you get to be in charge of  them! ”

 

Armin stares at Mike for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly.  He’s never wanted to boss  anyone around before, least of all Mike.  And he doesn’t think he’ll be able to pretend Mike is the bullies who’ve hurt him, but he can feel the anger and hurt at what they said gnawing at him just below the surface of his emotions, and Mike has never steered him wrong before.  It isn’t the first time something Mike’s suggested has sounded a little...odd...but they’ve never done anything that didn’t end up being fun for both of them in the end.  He closes his mouth and puts on his best determined face, which is more cute than anything else, and Mike has to hold back a laugh as it seems his boy has decided to try the idea, and he doesn’t want to do anything that might cause him to doubt himself.

 

“Okay.  I’ll...I’ll try.”

 

“Good lad! But you’ve got to really give it your best. You were mortal embarrassed when I put on that blindfold and handed you that honeypot too, but that ended up being lots of fun, didn’t it?”

 

“Y-es,” agrees Armin, because he can’t argue on that one. It had turned out to be one of Mike’s better ideas in ever.

 

“All right then. Here’s what I want you to do. Go and take yourself a nice long shower. Clean yourself up...thoroughly...use the sandalwood cream on yourself after, that I got from that lady inside Sina that time...yes, I know it’s expensive, but it’s going to help, I promise. I’ve got some things to get together. I should be back in about an hour. Don’t get dressed after, just put on that dressing gown we never use that’s in the bottom of the armoire. All right? There’s a good lad!”

 

He kisses Armin quickly and dashes out the door, leaving Armin a little dizzy and quite speechless.  Before he can think about it too hard, or try and talk himself out of it, Armin stands and begins stripping off his gear and uniform.  He pulls the sandalwood cream as well as the honeysuckle oil out of the table by the bed, takes the unused dressing gown out of its drawer, and heads into the washroom.  A thought strikes him and he pauses, pulling a small jar out of the bottom of his dresser drawer before continuing to the shower.

 

He washes himself carefully, spending twice as much time as he normally does, willing the shaking out of his hands as he lathers himself with soap.  As he cleans every inch of himself, he tries to put himself in the mind of a wealthy prince.  He imagines luxuriating around all day, nothing to do but read.  It’s a tempting fantasy, even though he knows deep inside that he would quickly tire of such a boring lifestyle.

 

When he finishes cleaning his body, he pulls out the tiny jar he’d kept hidden in his dresser.  He had saved up nearly half his money each month for several months in order to purchase the little treasure.

 

One night, when they had been lying in bed after a rather exhaustive play session, Mike had been holding Armin close and petting his hair.  Normally, Mike stuck to generic positive whisperings after an intense scene, but that night, for some reason, he had told Armin how much he loved his hair.  How soft it was, like silk running through his fingers.  It was the first time Mike had commented on something about him so  specifically and Armin had decided to make use of the information.

 

The last time the Commander had gone inside wall Sina for some political get together, Armin had worked up the courage to ask the man to bring back some of the scented soap the nobles and the like use in their hair.  The Commander had been more than willing to oblige, and Armin had stowed the small jar away for a later time.  He had originally thought to use it for Mike’s birthday, but his lover had made other plans for them, and he hadn’t had the chance.

 

He looks down at the colored glass jar and smiles.  Since Mike wants him to use the expensive sandalwood cream for this, he decides it’s as good a time as any.   He imagines the look on Mike’s face when he notices the scent of lilies mixed in with Armin’s natural smell, and the smell of the sandalwood.  He takes his time finishing his shower, rubs the sandalwood cream on his skin, uses the cleaning kit that cleans out his insides, and wraps himself in the dressing gown.  The different scents flow over him and help him imagine himself as a prince.  Mike hasn’t returned by the time he leaves the washroom, so he grabs one of the many books off the bookshelf, and curls up on the couch to read while he waits.

 

Armin looks up when the door opens. A truly startling apparition greets him. Mike steps into the cottage and closes the door, but it is a Mike unlike any Armin has ever seen. He’s wearing the suit he’d worn to the ball at the palace he’d had to attend with Erwin and Levi a few months ago, but then he’d still been recognizably himself. Now he’s added a snowy cravat rather than the plain dark blue and understated one he’d worn then. He’s also wearing white gloves and his shaggy hair is brushed back from his face and held in place at the back of his neck in a short plait tied with a skinny ribbon. Armin’s never seen him like this. He looks every inch the proper footman, and his face is fascinating without his hair in it. Every plane of his face shows in stark detail. The sharp blades of his nose and cheekbones, the ever-present quirk at the corner of his mouth that he really only shows to Armin and which is probably not very in-character but which Armin finds comforting. He’s...he’s beautiful, Armin thinks, and then decides he should probably stop staring at his manservant like a lovesick puppy. 

 

There’s a stack of folded fabric draped over Mike’s arm. He closes the door and turns back to Armin, clicking his heels together and bowing.

 

“Y...y-you’re late,” stammers Armin nervously. Mike’s lips twitch as he barely manages not to laugh.

 

“I’m sorry, your highness,” says Mike smoothly, stepping to the couch and leaning over to tug Armin to his feet. “I was unavoidably detained.” Without another word, he starts taking off Armin’s dressing gown.

 

Remembering Mike’s request that he try and give this role his best, Armin stands perfectly still as his dressing gown is removed.  He shakes slightly from the cool air on his still slightly damp skin.  When Mike takes his time folding the dressing gown, Armin tries out his new role.

 

“H-hurry up!  I’m cold.”  says the prince, crossing his arms in front of him and attempting to glare at his manservant reproachfully, though he doesn’t quite manage it.

 

“Of course, your highness,” murmurs Mike, and goes about dressing Armin swiftly and efficiently. He hides his smirk at the startled expression on Armin’s face when he slides silk stockings up his legs and secures them with garters, then helps him step into a soft pair of buff breeches. A crisp white linen blouse buttons up to his neck and is tucked into the breeches, followed by an embroidered brocade vest, cravat, and beautiful gentleman’s evening coat with silver buttons. After he’s dressed, Mike asks him to sit down on the couch. He stands behind it and gently brushes out Armin’s hair. Armin hears him inhale deeply as he does so and cannot miss the low rumble of approval in Mike’s chest when he smells the new soap.

 

Armin relaxes into the soft touches for a moment before he remembers that he’s supposed to be a spoiled brat.  The fact that Mike has gone to so many lengths for him, even to the point of finding the right clothes, (in the back of his mind Armin knows there is only person in the entirety of the Survey Corp who not only owns clothes this nice, but is also the same size as him, and he is fairly certain he will  never be able to look Corporal Levi in the eyes again, considering he knows  exactly what he’s about to do while wearing the man’s nicest clothes) makes Armin resolve himself to play this through, no matter how uncomfortable and embarrassing it may be.  As Mike passes the brush through his hair, Armin yelps in pain and turns to face Mike.

 

“T-that hurts!  You’re p-p-pulling on my hair!”  He gulps noticeably and closes his eyes for a brief moment before trying to glare at Mike again.  “You...you...you in-incompetent f-f-fool!”  Armin grimaces as he hurls the fake insult, unable to stop the feeling of guilt at being so rude to his lover.  He bites his lip in apprehension, hoping Mike isn’t upset or offended.

 

Mike beams at Armin in delight and nods his approval, knowing perfectly well he’s breaking character, but his poor sweet boy looks terrified. Armin relaxes vividly at his display of support and folds his arms, a pouting expression on his face.

 

“Forgive me, your highness,” sighs Mike, brushing even more slowly and carefully at his prince’s silky, tangle-free hair. The little brat just likes to complain about everydamnthing to make Mike’s job harder. Slowly and carefully, he plaits Armin’s hair and clubs it at the back of his neck with a blue satin ribbon. As expected, his royal highness complains again about having his hair pulled too hard. Mike murmurs his apologies and moves his fingers even more slowly and carefully.

 

“There’s cold roast fowl for luncheon, your highness,” he says respectfully after the brat prince is dressed and coiffed. “With bread and cheese, as well as steamed mashed parsnips, a field greens salad, and blackberry crumble for dessert. Will you have water, cider, or tea to drink?”

 

“Tea.  A-and you better not let it b-burn me this time.”  The unease is less evident in Armin’s voice, and Mike smiles, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgement and turning to finish making the preparations for the meal.  “And…”  Mike pauses and turns once again to face his young prince.  “And hand me my book s-so I can read while I w-wait.”

 

The young prince’s manservant eyes the book sitting  right beside  him on the end table less than a foot away from his elbow and certainly within reach. One eyebrow lifts a little, but he picks up the book and hands it to Armin before turning to the stove. He goes and puts the kettle on, then fetches the tea tin from the shelf above it and prepares the cup. At the table, he removes the canvas cover and instead lays out their one good table cloth, which they only use for company. He goes to the door and opens it, fetching a basket he’s left sitting there and taking it to the table to set out the prince’s lunch for him. The boy is too thin, he thinks, glancing at him as he places cold chicken and cheese on a platter. Armin turns a page, a tiny frown of concentration between his eyebrows. He always has that when he’s reading. Oh, the prince is so bright. The servant believes he’s going to do great things for his country. Provided he doesn’t strangle the little brat before his father hands down the throne!

 

He clears his throat quietly and waits for Armin to look at him. The boy ignores him deliberately for several pages, and Mike’s teeth are set. When he’s darned good and ready (and he really hopes before Mike is actually mad at him, though the fleeting reassuring smile he gets when he peeks up before setting down the book has his shoulders relaxing), Armin drops it negligently on the sofa and sighs (he can’t quite bring himself to drop it on the floor).

 

“Your luncheon is served, your highness,” says Mike softly. He goes back to the table and waits for Armin to come and take the chair he holds out patiently. 

 

Armin stands gracefully and sits in the proffered chair, flipping the long coat behind him as he does so.  Mike chokes back a startled laugh before it can escape his lips at how pompous his little prince is being, and forces his expression back to one of neutrality.  He picks up one of their nice cloth napkins and lays it over Armin’s lap.

 

“Please enjoy, your highness.”  With a bow, Mike retreats to stand just behind and slightly to the right of Armin, far enough away that he is not invading the prince’s personal space, but still close enough to refill his tea cup when it’s empty.

 

The prince surveys the food before him and notices that his manservant has chosen several of his favorites, but he doesn’t feel too terribly inclined to reward the man for it just now.  He places a few morsels of each item on his plate and picks up his fork.  Slowly, more slowly than normal, because he has no reason to be in a hurry and what else are servants good for if not waiting patiently for their master to give them an order, Armin eats his meal.  Except for the parsnips.

 

The first time Mike had made parsnips for dinner Armin had been apprehensive.  He recalled his grandfather making the dish when he was younger and they had always been bland and so thick they stuck in his throat.  But he hadn’t wanted to offend his lover so he had tried them anyway.  They had felt like heaven in his mouth, light and fluffy and tasting of butter and salt and just the barest hint of garlic.  They were so good he had eaten nearly half the bowl by himself before he realized Mike was looking at him funny.  Mike had laughed in amusement and shushed his apologies before promising to try and make the dish as often as he was able.

 

And so the prince, (knowing Mike will understand it is all an act) points his fork indignantly at the offending vegetable and scowls disdainfully.  (He briefly considers throwing a small forkful on the floor, but is so horrified at himself for even thinking of wasting them that he pushes the thought away almost as quickly as he has it.)

 

“Those are disgusting.  I won’t eat them.”

 

“Your highness,” says Mike soothingly, “a growing boy needs proper nutrition to grow into a strong, healthy man.”

 

“I don’t care,” says Armin loftily. “I hate them, and I won’t eat them.”

 

The loyal manservant looks to heaven and prays momentarily for patience before trying again.

 

“Just a few bites please, young master? For me? You mustn’t neglect your health, you see. I assure you, though it may not seem so now, that it’s very important.”

 

“No,”  declares the prince, putting more force into his voice.  “They are vile, and I refuse to eat them.  And my health is not so fragile that it cannot withstand the absence of this...slop.”  He tosses his fork onto his plate carelessly and folds his arms huffing out a breath of air as he does so and looking away from the table in stubborn defiance.

 

The prince’s servant folds one arm behind his back so that his little tyrant can’t see him clenching it slowly into a fist. He takes a calming breath. The boy could try the patience of a saint! He leans forward and takes away the offending parsnips.

 

“Very well, your highness. Would you care for your dessert now, master?”

 

He’d tried depriving the prince of dessert on one other occasion when the boy had refused to eat part of his meal, but there had been a temper tantrum of epic proportions, and the Queen had been summoned. She had scolded the servant soundly and informed him that his highness was perfectly capable of becoming a good ruler without having to eat the foods he didn’t like and that Mike overstepped in attempting to deprive him. She’d then given the little darling  two  desserts. Mike thinks the Queen could have used a very sound spanking when she was a girl. The prince, of course, most definitely would care for dessert, although Mike’s ribs creak a little with the effort it takes him not to laugh when Armin looks longingly after the parsnips. He’ll put them on the back of the stove to keep warm so his boy can have them later when he’s….hm...recovered a bit from being the prince. And he’s getting pretty good at being the prince, so it may take him a while to recover from it. Mike’s lips curl into an evil smirk as he turns his back to fetch the blackberry crumble from the sideboard.

 

The prince demolishes his dessert with a good will and then sits back and demands that his manservant wipe the crumbs from his lips and his clothing. There aren’t many, and it’s completely unnecessary, but Mike does it anyway.

 

“Now it’s time for your lessons, your highness,” he says cheerfully, taking out the big map of the kingdom and hanging it on the wall. He takes out several large rolls of parchment that contain Erwin’s troop formations and unrolls them on the table in front of the prince. Of course, Armin knows these formations upside down and backwards, and is even responsible for inventing some of them, but he’s not Armin just now, so Mike’s very interested to see his reaction. “I need you to study these formations and write out a brief summary of the conditions under which each would be effective. Your father wants you to study battle tactics more carefully, he told me just yesterday, so this is quite important.”

 

Armin, now fully submerged in his bratty role, sweeps his hand across the table without a second thought, knocking the plans to the floor.  He is tired of spending his days pouring over his father’s boring battle plans when his time could be much better spent reading or riding through the countryside.

 

“My father cares more for his precious battle tactics than he does for his own son’s happiness.  So I don’t care how important he says they are.  I refuse to spend another moment looking at boring plans made by boring old men for my boring father.”  The prince stands suddenly, and starts towards the couch.  “I’m going back to my book.  Don’t bother me again.”

 

“I’m sorry, your highness,” says Mike firmly (and through his teeth, though he hopes the prince doesn’t notice), “but your father has given his orders. You don’t have to spend too long, and then we’ll go for a nice ride. I know that’s one of your favorite activities. Come now. Sit back down and give it your full attention and it won’t take long at all.”

 

The prince completely ignores his manservant and sits on the couch, pulling his book into his hands and opening it without even sparing a glance at Mike.

 

“I told you not to bother me.  I’m not going to look at those ridiculous battle plans no matter how much you beg or bribe me to.  Now leave me alone.”  Armin flips a hand at Mike in a dismissive gesture, his eyes never leaving his book.

 

The manservant heaves a put-upon sigh and narrows his eyes. This won’t do. He marches to the sofa, leans down, and picks the prince up as though he weighs no more than a sigh. Well, and he doesn’t. Ignoring the boy’s startled sqwak and his struggles, he plonks the boy back down in his chair in front of the charts and glares at him sternly.

 

“You. Will. Study. Your highness,” he says firmly, giving the prince a gimlet eye and daring him to get up from that chair.

 

Startled for a moment, the prince stares back at his manservant incredulously.  He has never been manhandled in this fashion before.  Anger rises inside of him and he glares back at Mike with equal intensity.

 

“How  dare you!  I am the prince and you are nothing more than my servant!  You have no right to treat me this way!  I will NOT study your stupid plans, and I will NOT write out anything about anything.”  He stands resolutely, fists clenched at his side as he continues yelling.  “I am a prince, and I will do whatever I want, whenever I want and however I want to do it!  You dare to think  you can give  me orders?!  I can have you fired and out on the street with a single  word if I wanted!  I shall NEVER take orders from you!”  Armin breathes heavily.  He wants to stop himself because a part of his mind is appalled at the things he’s saying to Mike, but the anger and rage and pain from the last few days is still boiling inside of him, forcing its way out.  “I am sick of listening to you tout my father’s wishes at me!  He is a blathering old fool who doesn’t care about my feelings at all and YOU are just like him!  Now leave me ALONE!”  Armin is yelling in earnest now, more angry than he has ever felt in his life.

 

Mike is utterly delighted. This is exactly what he’d hoped for. Armin almost never yells, and Mike has always privately felt he should do more of it. The insults roll right off his back, because they’re completely based in the fantasy and have no bearing whatsoever on their real lives.

 

“Why you insufferable  brat, ” he growls.

 

Armin’s eyes go wide and he clenches his fists even harder.

 

“WHAT did you call me?!  You...you...you...how DARE you!  I am the PRINCE!”  He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.  “I am better than EVERYONE!  But you’re just like everybody else!  Everyone thinks they can just order me around and tell me how to live my life without caring how I FEEL ABOUT IT!  No one cares about what  I think or about how  I feel, and the only reason anyone is ever nice to me is because they think they can use me to get what  they want!  Well I’m TIRED of it!  I’M the prince and I will prove to ALL of them how much better I am!  They can all go to HELL for all I care!”  He rushes forward, barreling into Mike and starts pounding his tiny fists on his manservant’s chest.  “I am better than EVERYONE!  DO YOU HEAR ME?!?!”

 

“Oh, that is  enough, ” cries the beleagured manservant, snagging the boy’s flailing arms by the wrists with what is probably depressing ease as far as the furious prince is concerned. He rudely throws the boy over his shoulder and strides to the bed, ignoring the prince’s howl of outrage. With one hand he yanks a couple of pillows down to the center of the bed, then dumps his shouting burden across them, facedown. Armin tries to flip over, but a broad hand in the middle of his back holds him in place. Mike flips the beautifully tailored evening jacket up over the boy’s back and his other hand comes down hard on the snug breeches. The boy screeches, even though it can’t possibly have hurt very much through his doeskin pants, but that’s about to change. The servant has reached the end of his tether with his royal highness.

 

Swiftly, he reaches under the squirming body and unfastens the boy’s breeches, then yanks them down over his hips and pert little backside, baring it to the cool air of the room. As fed up as Mike is, he’s still able to appreciate how round and sweet the prince’s bottom is. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this. Grinning maniacally, he rains a series of swats down on Armin’s writhing cheeks as he reaches over to the bedside table and snags a soft, woven cotton tie. Putting his knee in the boy’s back, he grabs both wrists and holds them tightly together.

 

“STOP IT!  STOP IT, I’ll have you FLOGGED!” screams the prince. Mike just grins more widely than ever.

 

“Oh, I’m going to show you flogged, little brat,” he mutters with relish as he wraps the makeshift rope around the slender wrists. The prince does his best to bite Mike. Mike laughs as he evades the attempt and ties the bound wrists to the sturdy headboard of the bed. Now his captive cannot escape his comeuppance. And the servant is going to love every moment of giving it to him. He still has to hold the little wretch in place, because the boy won’t stop trying to turn over and to kick him all at the same time. It makes neither attempt very effective. With one hand pressing Armin’s back down firmly, Mike administers the first of  many sharp swats to the prince’s soft backside. He spanks steadily and firmly, but not too hard yet. He wants to teach the boy a lesson, not brutalize him. 

 

The smacks  hurt , and the little prince cries out with pain at each one.  He struggles valiantly against the hand in his back, trying to wriggle away from the stinging in his rear, but his manservant is much larger than him and presses him into the pillows, raining slap after slap down on his bared behind.  Armin kicks his legs up, trying to bend his legs up enough to reach Mike’s hand, but all he gets for his trouble is a few sharp swats to his thighs and the tender sit-spots above them, and they sting like  mad so he stops kicking.  He fights against the restraints around his wrists, yanking on them to no avail.

 

“LET ME GO!  OOOWWW!!  It hurts!  Stop it!  Stop it right NOW!”

 

Armin throws a leg to the side and hooks it over the side of the bed.  With a heave, he attempts to pull himself over the side of the bed.  But Mike’s reflexes are as fast as ever, and he yanks Armin’s leg back into place and continues the spanking, increasing the force in his hand by just a fraction.

 

Mike chuckles at the poor little boy’s attempts to escape his  very  just reward. He thwarts them all with ease and just keeps right on spanking, peppering every inch of the little tyrant’s bottom and the tops of his thighs with red. The prince continues to holler and struggle, despite the fact that the spanking  must be beginning to hurt by now. 

 

“If you’re going to keep trying to kick me, your highness,” he purrs, stopping for a moment to rub his hand on the leg of his pants. Armin must have a LOT of frustration built up over the past few days, to still be resisting this strongly. Mike feels a pang of guilt that he’s let things get so bad for his precious boy, but he squashes it down and resolves to do a good job taking care of things  now.  “Then I’ll simply have to ensure that you’re not able to do so.”

 

He stands up and kneels on the bed behind Armin, grasping the waistband of his breeches where he’s managed to kick them down to the middle of his calves. He yanks them swiftly the rest of the way off, leaving the boy naked from the waist down, except for his lovely silk stockings. These follow the breeches, despite the prince’s best efforts to prevent it. Mike pauses to shove the boy’s legs open very wide with his knees, then rains down a furious volley of spanks on his naughty bottom and on the very, very tender insides of his thighs for refusing to cooperate with his discipline. Armin wails and the kicking becomes a little less vehement. Mike takes this opportunity to whip the silk stockings around one ankle, then the other, and tie them to the bedposts at the foot of the bed. This leaves the wicked little prince spread very wide indeed, and terribly vulnerable. Mike takes a moment to appreciate the view. God, he’s so lovely, this sweet boy who has become his world in such a short amount of time. His hand rubs away some of the sting in Armin’s upthrust backside for just a few seconds, and Armin is unable to stop himself from arching up into the touch for a moment. Mike’s glad. It means everything is still going well, and he hasn’t crossed any lines that are making this hurtful for his sensitive little lover. Then Armin remembers himself and bucks against the touch, shrilly demanding to be released at once. Mike smiles and begins spanking him again.

 

With his legs bound and spread so wide, Armin isn’t able to struggle as effectively as before.  But as his large manservant continues the stinging assault on his now bright red backside he starts to realize the man is serious about continuing, and decides that acting contrite might spur Mike into showing him some mercy.  (Besides, all the thrashing around has been rubbing his by now  very prominent erection against the soft fabric of the pillows, and Armin doesn’t want to embarrass himself by coming all over them before they even get started, and he is fairly certain they are only  just getting started, and a rush of arousal runs straight through his groin at the prospect of more to come.)  He stills his escape attempts, crying out softly at each smack as Mike continues, showing no mercy for the young brat.  When the hand finally stops, the prince relaxes into the pillows, grateful the spanking is finally over.

 

When his servant doesn’t untie him at once, the prince raises his head and looks around for him in confusion. What the devil is the man doing? Mike opens the chest at the foot of the bed and takes something out of it. When he notices the prince’s regard, he smiles what the boy thinks is a rather unnecessarily nasty smile.

 

“What was that you were saying earlier about flogging, highness?” he asks, and opens his hand. Long, supple strands of beautifully tanned doeskin fall from his hand and dangle down, swaying softly, leaving him holding a sturdy handle covered with braided leather.

 

The prince’s eyes go impossibly wide as he watches the swaying strands.  Armin has felt the deerskin flogger before, knows how pleasurable the sensation is against his skin, but the young royal he is currently hasn’t felt its touch, and is terrified of the implement of discipline his manservant is holding.  His mouth goes dry and his voice is barely more than a whisper when he finally manages to speak.

 

“No...no please...please don’t flog me.  I’ll be good!  I’ll study the charts.  I will!  Just please...please don’t…”  His voice trails off and he licks his lips in apprehension.

 

The fear in Armin’s voice sounds genuine, but Mike doesn’t worry about it too much.  He can see Armin’s arousal displayed prominently between his spread legs, and the desire in his boy’s eyes is almost palpable.  Oh the little prince might not want what’s coming to him, but his cute little boy  certainly does, and Mike lets go of a bit of his worry about how badly Armin’s been feeling.  He isn’t better yet, there’s still quite a bit of pain lurking behind his eyes, but he knows the boy is starting down the path that will let him release it.

 

“Oh, you’re going to be good all right,” he agrees pleasantly. He lets the tips of the soft leather strands trickle down Armin’s back and up over his upraised bottom. They slide between his cheeks and just barely brush the tiny hole Mike can see peeking out because of how widely he’s spread the helpless boy. His own arousal responds to Armin’s soft squeak of alarm at the feeling and he presses on his cock with the heel of his hand, his mouth watering a bit at the sight of the feast displayed before him. He really hopes there’s not any kind of emergency tomorrow, because his baby is going to be  very  sore. On the outside….and in. 

 

He withdraws the flogger and sets it spinning, letting the falls dance close to the prince’s flesh so that he can feel the breeze of their passing and hear the soft burr of the leather parting the air. He begs softly again, but Mike pays him no mind. The little prince hasn’t earned mercy...and Armin wants none. Not yet, anyway. 

 

He lets the tips of the flogger kiss the boy’s upraised cheeks. The flesh of his bottom quivers as it’s lifted by the force of the whip’s spinning. Mike knows very well it doesn’t hurt, but the prince cries out in shock and alarm at first, terrified by the very idea of having his royal flesh flogged like a common criminal. His impression of what he thinks is coming to him is surely colored by the few military and public floggings he’s seen, and those had certainly been fearsome to see. Those floggers had been vastly different from the buttery soft toy heating the boy’s skin now; monstrous things of stiff rawhide with nasty hard knots along their length. It doesn’t take long for the prince to notice the difference. Mike steps up the force a little, lets the flogger impart some heat with its caress. Armin is hard-pressed to conceal his erotic response to the flogging. Mike slows his assault and, taking no pity on Armin’s breathy little cries of hunger, he lets the tips dance between his legs and between his deliciously spread cheeks, softly teasing his little hole. He can see the little prince’s thighs quiver with his efforts to close them, but his bottom lifts as he rocks his hips, rutting shamelessly against the pillows and moaning piteously.

 

No matter how hard he tries, the prince can’t stop the shameful sounds from escaping him.  It’s mortifying, being so helpless and vulnerable in front of his manservant, but the feel of the flogger on his tender flesh is more pleasurable than he imagined, and almost more than he can stand.  He tries to thrust his hips forward and back at the same time, wanting to feel more of the soft leather’s touch on his skin, but desperate for some relief for his dripping cock.  He can feel the mess he’s making on the pillows and his shirt, but just now, can’t bring himself to care.  When the falls dip between his cheeks again, brushing against the tiny pucker concealed there, he has to bite his lip to keep from moaning just like the whores who walk the back alleys of the city at night.  A strange floaty sensation begins to wash over him, as though he’s being lifted from his body and suspended there.  His mind, which has been so preoccupied with escaping the harsh treatment from his servant, begins to wish fervently for the torment, if that’s what this is, to never stop.

 

“Please...oh please…”  Armin looks back over his shoulder, pupils blown wide with need, his eyes imploring, but whether he’s begging for Mike to stop, or to never, even he doesn’t know.

 

Mike keeps going, working the boy over with the soft leather until he’s dissolved into nothing more than a puddle of whimpering, moaning need, his bottom and legs red and hot and shivering desperately. At last he stops, and he puts his knee down beside the boy and leans over, down close to his ear, and he whispers, soft as a sigh.

 

“Are ye’ ready for your ‘punishment’ now, naughty boy?”

 

Armin nearly sobs with need at the sound of Mike’s burning voice in his ear.

 

“Y-yes...oh yes Mike, p-please...please...I need...I need…”  Armin pulls against the bonds on his wrists, his mind drowning in the pleasure Mike’s given him, unable to form the thoughts he wants to express.  He arches his back, presenting his reddened rear in supplication and gazing into his lovers eyes, pleading.  The little prince is gone now, the look in Armin’s eyes showing nothing more than desire, and need.

 

Mike’s big hand ghosts over Armin’s hair. It’s coming loose from its plait, but Mike’s never claimed to be a hair dresser.

 

“Good boy,” he murmurs, setting down the flogger. Going back to the foot of the bed, he takes up the strap he’s only used on Armin on a very few occasions. It’s thicker and heavier than his own belt, the one he’ll usually take off to spank the boy with. Well-oiled and supple, it wraps around his fist easily, leaving a good eighteen inches dangling, dark with purpose. He drapes it across the boy’s bright red bottom and loves the way Armin’s skin shivers at the sensation. He raises his arm and brings the strap down with a CRACK. It’s nowhere near as hard as he can strike, but he’d rather die than  ever hit this boy as hard as he can. Still, it’s not as hard as he’ll be whipping him before they’re done, but it leaves a band of darker red across the cute rounded globes of Armin’s bottom. The second stroke is a little harder. The third, harder still.

 

“Lift your bottom up higher for me, there’s a good lad,” he purrs, and when Armin squirms to obey, he cracks the strap across the crease where soft cheek meets tender thigh, spanking Armin’s sit-spots hard.

 

Armin cries as the harsh strap stings his sore flesh.  He can feel the tears starting to well in his eyes already, even though Mike’s only hit him a few times.  The strap falls on his thigh, wrapping around and licking cruelly at the tender insides of his legs, and then another on the opposite side.

 

Mike takes his time with the strapping, pausing in between strokes, but only for a few seconds, just enough to let the initial sting of the strike fade before continuing to the next one.  Armin bites into his lip as the pain builds, trying to hold himself back, not wanting to give in just yet.  And he manages to hold out for much longer than he usually does.  But when a particularly hard whap sinks into his cheeks low enough to sting his quivering hole, he cries out in earnest and lets the tears fall.  He sobs into the sheets beneath him, whimpering with each CRACK of leather against flesh.

 

“Puh-please!  I’m so suh-sorry!  No more, puh-puh-please don’t spank me anymore!”  Armin sobs as the strap continues to fall across his abused backside.  “Please, Sir!”

 

Mike stops the whipping and leans down again. His hand strokes down the line of Armin’s spine and he presses a kiss to the hot little face that turns towards him, seeking comfort. 

 

“You’re such a good boy,” he whispers. “You’ve taken your whipping so well, baby boy. So good for me. Just a few more, okay love? To help you let it all out for me, and then it’ll be over. Can you be brave for me?”

 

Armin nods, tears streaming down his cheeks, wanting to prove to Mike he can be his brave little boy.  He lifts his bottom as high as he can and digs his fingers into the bedclothes.

 

“I-I’m ready, Sir.”  he whimpers, his voice barely audible through his tears, and Mike runs a hand down his back soothingly.

 

“Such a good boy,” says Mike, and moves back into position. He knows Armin’s almost at the end of his endurance, but he also knows his boy, and there’s still a little bit of the past days’ frustration and sorrow inside him, because he hasn’t let himself go quite enough. He raises his arm much higher than before before bringing the strap down with a shattering CRACK across Armin’s obediently raised backside. Armin wails in pain, and it lances right through Mike’s heart. He wants to stop, wants to take the boy in his arms and comfort him, make his pain stop, but there’s a particular tone to Armin’s sobbing when he’s really empty of whatever is paining him. And Mike doesn’t hear it. Armin’s crying is pained, and pitiful, but there’s still strain in his voice. He steels himself and lays down another stroke, and then another.

 

As half a dozen more strokes, harder than any of the ones before them, fall across Armin’s bruised behind, the pain is more intense than ever.  When another harsh smack brings the pain to a nearly intolerable level, Armin screams with agony and feels something click back into place in his mind.  He sobs anew, but this time his tears are of relief, not pain.  His mind and his heart feel clean again, and they burn with such an intense love for Mike, for knowing exactly what Armin needed, and being able to give it to him.

 

Mike hears it immediately, the difference in the sound of Armin’s crying. The strap thumps unheeded to the floor and he unties his baby boy’s ankles and wrists as swiftly as possible and then sweeps him into his arms and cuddles them both down into the bed together, his hands petting and soothing Armin’s sobs.

 

“Shh,” he murmurs into the sunshine silk of Armin’s hair, tugging the satin ribbon loose and then sliding his hands through the braid to free the shining strands with their captivating new scent of lilies. He breathes deep and hums softly in approval, gently rubbing Armin’s shoulders and his back, then ghosting his fingertips softly over cruelly punished flesh. Armin cries harder, and Mike rubs softly until the sting starts to fade. “Shh, baby. You’re so good. So brave. Ah, lad, I’m sorry. You were so good for me. I’m so in love with you. Shh.”

 

Armin buries his face in Mike’s neck, wraps his fingers in the cool linen of his dress shirt, and just lets himself cry for a minute.  The pain and frustration and anger from the last few days is completely gone, and Armin feels better than he has in days.  Well, emotionally.  His inflamed backside is sore, but Mike’s doing a decent job of rubbing the sting away, leaving just a deep ache behind.  As his sobs begin to quiet into a soft sort of snuffle, he presses his lips against the tendon in Mike’s neck.

 

“Thank you...thank you,”  he whispers against the sun-darkened skin.

 

“An’ what have I told you about that, lad?” chuckles Mike softly. “There’s no thanks needed in a thing that’s shared. I needed this too. I’m glad you feel better. I’ve got to say, ye’ made a much better holy tyrant than I’d ever expected!”

 

“Oh god.”  Armin feels the blush rise to his face and buries himself even deeper into Mike’s neck.  “I’m so sorry, Sir.  I said such awful things to you.  I’m sorry…”

 

“Here now, stop that,” says Mike comfortably, reaching over with one long arm to grab the little jar of soothing cream they keep beside the bed. “You were in character, and ye’ did a good job. I wasn’t bothered a bit. Were you bothered when I called you insufferable brat?” Armin shakes his head. “There now. It was fun. You look a treat in those clothes I brought for you...and half out of ‘em too, I might add. Though I do think I might have to tell Erwin you called him a boring old man.”

 

Armin’s breath catches in his throat and he jerks his head up in horror.  When he sees the jest in Mike’s eyes he slumps back down with a tiny whimper and thumps his fist against Mike’s chest.

 

“You’re mean.”

 

“Oh aye? Sure you want to be sayin’ that to me when that strap’s still within reach?” 

 

Armin blanches a little and Mike hugs him tightly and tilts his chin up for a gentle kiss.

 

“You’re right,” he concedes easily. “I’m mean. I don’t know why you waste your time with a cruel old relic like me, as wonderful as you are. But I’m glad ye’ do, lad. Come then, let me make up for being mean. I know this’ll help you feel better.” He holds up the jar of cream as he unscrews the lid. 

 

With a slight shift of their bodies, Armin lays face down on the bed and lets Mike rub the cool cream on his reddened bottom and thighs.  It stings a little at first, but it feels good quickly and Armin can’t help a soft sigh.  His erection is still very much present, and when Mike dips his fingers between red cheeks to brush against his tight hole, Armin moans with need and bucks his hips up into the touch.

 

Mike can’t suppress his own groan of desire at Armin’s open display of passion from his touch. The gentle massage grows less soothing and more lascivious in nature. His fingers, slippery with cream, swirl and tickle at the tiny pucker of his lover’s anus. He presses gently, pushing just the tip of his finger inside the velvety heat, then pulls it back out. Armin whines and rocks his hips entreatingly. Mike’s hand wanders between widespread thighs and cups the hardness of his boy’s pretty cock. Deft fingers stroke as he leans down to whisper in Armin’s ear.

 

“Mm. What is it you could be wantin’, naughty little boy?”

 

Armin squirms and tries to rub himself into Mike’s hand, but his lover keeps his touches faint and teasing.  The blush on Armin’s cheeks deepens and he buries his face in the sheets, his response muffled by the bedclothes.  Mike delivers a soft smack to Armin’s bruised behind, causing him to yelp and raise his head.

 

“That won’t do, lad.  I can’t understand ye’ when you’re mouth’s full of blankets.”

 

Ducking his head in both apology and embarrassment, Armin repeats himself.  Only this time it’s understandable.

 

“I want...will you use your m-m-mouth, Sir?”  His face feels like it’s on fire, and he’s positive it’s nearly the same color as his bottom.  But he know Mike likes to hear him ask for the dirty little things he wants, and his embarrassment fades as he hears the groan in Mike’s throat at his words.

 

Mike growls softly in pleasure and softly presses Armin’s raw little cheeks apart. He lowers his head and softly tickles the little rosebud with the tip of his tongue. Armin cries out and writhes. Mike kisses his tight little hole and then licks it, pressing his tongue against the tightly furled opening and pushing just a little inside. He strokes and licks and stabs at the tiny star until it softens and starts to open for him more easily. Armin’s breathy moans and gasps and cries are driving him mad. He pulls back and, with a wicked grin, shoves a slick finger all the way inside Armin’s ass with a firm twist.

 

Armin cries out a bit at the sudden intrusion, but it tapers off into a moan as Mike begins to move the finger around inside of him.  His breathing becomes shallow when his lover finds the sensitive little nub inside him and strokes over it gently.  Mike adds a second finger and slowly scissors them apart, taking his time to prepare his sweet little boy’s hole.  There’s no pain or burn at the motion, just a feeling of pressure as the tight ring of muscle is stretched.  Armin moans wantonly when Mike pushes a third finger inside him, and he opens his legs unthinkingly, welcoming the sensation.  The fingers are removed, much sooner than Armin would like, but when he feels a much larger hardness pressing against him, he lets out a small whine of need.

 

“I hope you’re ready for me,” growls Mike softly, leaning down to nip at the shell of Armin’s ear. “I’ve been wantin’ to be inside you since the moment I saw ye’ sittin on our sofa in that dressing gown, warm an’ naked underneath, nervous and eager...ah lad, I love ye’ so, but you’re in for a rough ride.”

 

As carefully as he’s able, Mike presses inside Armin’s body, gritting his teeth against the urge to simply force his way inside and rut mindlessly. Armin cries out beneath him as the incredible tightness of his small hole gives way to Mike’s invasion. Slowly but inexorably he sinks into warm, wet silk until he feels the heat of Armin’s well-spanked backside against his hips. 

 

“Ah! Ah! Mike,” gasps Armin, fingers clawing into the sheets.

 

“Ready?” asks Mike, hardly daring to breathe at the clutch and quiver of his boy’s sweet little hole around his thick, heavy cock.

 

Armin gasps breathlessly at the intense feeling of fullness that always comes when Mike’s inside him.  It’s always hard for his small little body to accept the massive intrusion, but Armin wouldn’t have it any other way.  He loves when it just stretches and burns a little like it does now, but also when it stings and aches and hurts just a bit when Mike is a little rougher with him.  He arches his back, pressing Mike’s cock a little deeper inside of him.

 

“Oh...oh yes Mike...please...please now…”  he moans, squeezing down around Mike ever so slightly in invitation.

 

With a groan, Mike slowly withdraws from Armin’s tightly clenching hole. He pauses, on the verge of pulling out entirely, just the thick knob of the head of his cock still inside. Armin writhes and raises his hips wantonly, and Mike  shoves.  Armin howls as he buries himself balls-deep back inside the boy’s tiny body, then withdraws to plunge again. For so long he’d feared to do this, desperate  not  to hurt his small lover, but time and experience and Armin patiently swearing to him over and over that he’s not going to  break  have finally convinced him. Even as he screams at the burn, Armin rocks into the hard, driving thrusts. As he feels his lover’s body soften and open for him further, he lowers himself until he covers the small body with his own, his hips rolling and grinding against Armin’s sore backside, angling his thrusts until Armin’s moans and cries halt suddenly as he sucks in his breath, then lets it out again on a long, desperate cry.

 

“Ohhhh….oh  Mike !”

 

“There?” hums Mike against Armin’s ear. “Right there, baby?”

 

“Yesyesyesyesyes...right there...ohhh...oh god Mike... harder !”  Armin thrusts his hips up into Mike’s, impaling himself forcefully on the hard cock inside him.  He feels tears run down his cheeks again as his body is overwhelmed by the pleasure.

 

Mike reaches his hand around and wraps it around Armin’s painfully leaking cock.  Gripping Armin’s hip with his other hand, Mike grins wolfishly and thrusts as hard as he dares.  It’s hard enough that Armin’s body slides forward a little, and they both groan in pleasure.  Mike thrusts again, and feels Armin clench up around him as his boy’s breath hitches in his throat.

 

“Mi...Mike...ohhh...oh, I can’t...I’m...I’m…”

 

“God, Armin,” whispers Mike, stroking strong and slow with just the right amount of pressure around Armin’s weeping erection, fucking into him harder, his breath raw and raspy in his boy’s ear. “God...I want to come. Go over for me. Come on then. Armin...oh. Oh,  now. ” 

 

And he slams his cock home hard, grinding against Armin’s sweet spot, his cock pulsing inside Armin’s tightly gripping hole as Armin howls and spills all over Mike’s hand and the soft sheets beneath them. Mike’s roar of pleasure as he loses himself is more than half wild, and thrills Armin down deep inside, to know it’s him that does this, that gives this big, kind, generous man such pleasure, that it’s  him  Mike wants and needs and loses control for. Mike’s vision tunnels down to sparks of white light at the intensity of his orgasm. He can’t speak or even seem to breathe for several long moments, shuddering and wrapping his arms around his lover to keep him close.

 

Armin curls into Mike’s arms, seeking the warmth and comfort of his large body.  They lay still for a moment, catching their breaths.  As the adrenaline begins to wear off, Armin starts to shiver slightly.  Mike grabs the large quilt from the end of the bed and throws it around them, pulling Armin tighter against him and idly running his hand over his boy’s back.

 

“All right then, lad?” murmurs Mike into his ear as he cuddles Armin close.

 

The boy nods his head against Mike’s chest and smiles happily.

 

“It was...wonderful.”  He sighs and relaxes into his lover’s touch.  “It was weird at first, ordering you around, acting like a brat...but you were right.  It was just a role I was playing, and it  did help me feel better to get all that anger out.”  Armin leans up and plants a kiss on Mike’s neck, breathing his lover’s scent for a moment before continuing.  “It was really nice to just be someone else for a while.  And you were amazing, Mike.  You made that wonderful lunch, and even got all dressed up in your nice clothes just for…”  Realization hits Armin like a ton of bricks and all the blood drains from his face.  Mike feels his lover stiffen, and pulls back a bit, worried, to look into the pale face and wide terrified eyes.

 

“What’s wrong, lad? Tell me! Whatever it is, we can work it out, I promise. Armin!” Worry crashes over him like a bucket of icy water as he wracks his brain to remember what he can have done to upset the boy this much.

 

Armin pulls away from Mike and sits up looking down at the fancy white linen shirt, embroidered vest, and beautifully crafted tailcoat he’s still wearing.  They are wrinkled and damp with sweat and come.  He grips the front of the soft, expensive shirt in shaking hands, imagining the look on its owners face when he learns of what Armin did to it.  He looks up at Mike imploringly, his eyes shining with fear.

 

“M-Mike…”

 

Mike grabs Armin and pulls him down, roaring with laughter as realization sets in. He can perfectly envision Armin’s very fertile imagination picturing having to return the borrowed garments to the only person Mike can possibly have borrowed them from, and the expression on Corporal Levi’s face when he sees the condition his dress suit is in. 

 

“Oh God, you’re perfect,” he gasps, kissing away the affronted expression on Armin’s face. “I’ve promised to take them to a very good laundress I know in town and have them cleaned and pressed before I return them. He’ll have them back in better shape than he loaned them to me, promise. Don’t worry over it. But oh lad...the expression on your face!”

 

Armin pounds a fist theatrically against Mike’s chest.

 

“S-stop laughing!  You...You don’t understand how  scary he is when he’s mad.  And it doesn’t matter how many times you wash it, he’s still going to  know , and I just…”  He buries his face in his hands and moans dejectedly.  “Now I’ll never be able to look at him again without wanting to just run away and hide in a hole in the ground.”

 

“Lad,” says Mike fondly, “you needn’t worry. He knew why I was asking to borrow them. Well, not  exactly why, but he’s no fool, and he knows the nature of our...relationship. You do know what an honor it is that he doesn’t insist they hide theirs from you anymore...he and Erwin...don’t you?”

 

“Oh, I do,” says Armin fervently. “I mean, he doesn’t want  anyone to know, and I think he’s got good reason for feeling that way. The same reasons you don’t let people see the kinds of things we do...alone together. It would make people look at us differently. I...it feels...good...that he trusts me enough.”

 

Mike nods earnestly.

 

“Aye, you’ve the right of it. And Armin...do you want to know what he said when he gave them to me?”

 

Armin covers his face with his hands again.

 

“Oh God, I really don’t know if I do. Tell me.”

 

“He said he couldn’t think why we needed them, but that he knew I wouldn’t ask unless it was important. He told me to tell you not to worry about it. That he respects you more as a man than any of the...let me be sure I get this right, because it was in French the first time and he had to translate it for me...the ‘come sucking, mouth-breathing sacks of walking pus in this army who dare to call themselves soldiers.’ Yes, that was it. That you weren’t allowed to feel awkward about it, and that if it made you feel any better, Erwin had fucked him on the bathroom sink in the palace in those clothes so if you wanted to be technical, you’re the one wearing his come rags, not the other way around.”

 

Armin leans up and stares at Mike, mouth hanging open in shock, his expression a mixture of horror, amusement and pride.  He looks down at the clothes in question.

 

“Oh god,”  he murmurs.  An image of the Corporal, wearing the same clothes Armin is currently wearing, splayed out on the counter of a palace bathroom while the Commander pounds into him roughly flashes through Armin’s mind and he throws himself back into Mike’s arms, his face redder than it’s been the entire evening.  “Oh  god !”

 

“Aye well, it was a bit too much information for me at the time too, even though I knew what they’d done that night. One of the curses of having a nose like mine is you can tell like they’re waving a flag around when anybody’s had sex! Come on then, love. You’re perfect and tonight was lovely and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Let’s get some rest. If you keep bein’ silly about it, I’ll have to spank you again. And my arm’s tired.”

 

Armin smiles and a little shock of excitement runs through him, but he’s just as tired as Mike and wants nothing more than to curl up with his lover and sleep.  So he sets his worry and fear aside and snuggles into Mike’s arms.

 

“Hmmm...maybe later.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Saddle Sore: An Armike Tale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809238) by [Watergirl1968](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968)




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